


The Killing Instinct

by KaedeRavensdale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And he has a taste for monster boys even he can't understand, Awakened Being Tom, Claymore Inspired AU, Claymore Tom, Code: Red, Formerly Wizard Tom, Harry can cook and sew, Harry is thirsty, Inferus are the new Yoma, M/M, The Order is the Organization, The Provinces are named for whose territory they are, The founders are Abyssals, Tom is incensed, Wizard Harry, and is a magnet for disaster, as usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 79,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: No one really remembers the history behind the arrival of the Inferi; most know only that they did come, that their hunger for flesh was as endless as the void, and that their presence amongst them brought nothing but death and fear. The only ones strong enough to defeat them were the ‘Silver Eyed Demons’ known as Claymore, half-human and half-inferi warriors created by the Order of the Phoenix to be used as living weapons to push back the threat. But their presence on the Island of Draiocht only led to more unrest, many believing the unnatural hybrids to be far more dangerous than the monsters themselves.Harry Potter was orphaned at a young age and left othered from the inhabitants of Godric’s Hollow by his status as a Wizard, but when his little town is forced to call on the Order’s aid his life is irrevocably changed and a cold hearted monster is given a reason to live beyond an empty duty.





	1. Prologue: Below His Station

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I've been working on this behind the scenes for a while and have quite a bit of it done. I'll be posting the Prologue and chapter 1 now and then putting more up from time to time but my main focus will be finishing Argenti and Avarice so that I can move on to the second part of the Three Sins Series.
> 
> Note of awareness: the symbol used to show time breaks is the Rune Thaurisaz, which is Tom's symbol. For so reason when it's written in its type set form it looks different than it does written, which is why it's described as being less rounded and more like a thorn.

The deep gorge dropped away below him, plummeting down towards the far distant silver ribbon of the half-frozen river at the bottom at a startling angle. Its walls were dark granite, cut from the mountains by the brutal winds and the passage of an ancient long melted glacier and crowned with a blanket of thick and frigid snow.

The wind howled like a near rabid animal, tugging at his pale curls until they were whipped into a wild bird’s nest and scratching at the apples of his cheeks with icy talons in a futile effort to leave them raw and smarting. To a lesser creature, like a human, the subzero temperatures would have been unbearable but Tom-not that anyone ever called him by that name, having long since learned to refer to him by his preferred moniker of Voldemort, or simply by his earned title of ‘Heartless’-was as unmoved by the chill as the mountains upon which the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been built; his body barely noticing the cold nor sparing even the slightest shiver, as if made from stone or ice rather than living flesh and blood be it that of a human or a monster.

Hollow silver eyes gazed down into the abyss with marked dispassion as he poised upon the mountain’s lip like a sneering gargoyle atop the parapets of a heathen church. The thought was near enough to make him laugh and snarl in equal measure: his kind, better than any other, understood the truth that there was no ‘God’. By any name. No matter what you were-rich or poor, merchant or minstrel, human or Inferus or both like him-all of them were Godless creatures, whether they realized and accepted that fact or not.

Thaurisaz gleamed silver against the ebon livery slung about his throat, the Rune chosen as the personal emblem to replace his name in the eyes of those who refused to recognize the fact he even had one in the same capacity that they did. Those that he was far superior to-even while bound to them as a servant under threat of death-and who forced him to protect humanity.  But mankind had never carried anything but hatred for him, even back when he’d been one of them himself, and were far from deserving of that protection. Tom. Voldemort. ‘Heartless’. All three reduced to a naked branch with a single thorn, emblazoned each upon collar and sword.

He growled, putting sharp teeth on display as his eyes flashed from silver to a piercing molten gold.

“The others can feel your restlessness for miles; you’re upsetting the trainees.”

Tom turned his head just enough to see his handler, as he called himself, standing not far behind him. Far more susceptible to the cold than he was the man had wrapped himself in thick fur clothing layers deep and his blonde hair, done back into a long pony tail, was whipped about behind him like some manner of absurd foreign flag.

“You’re presence here in Ravenclaw Province has begun to become a bit of a thorn in our side, Number One.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it, Abraxas? Suppress my Dark Aura enough that only those specialized in the sensory arts could perceive it? I don’t sodding feel like going through the trouble.” He returned his gaze to the gorge. “If the old man wants that, he’ll have to come tell me himself.”

This response was clearly a less than pleasing one, which was a large part and parcel of why he’d worded it in the way that he had. He chaffed under their yolk more than any other within the Order, and taking out his considerable frustrations on Abraxas was one of the few outlets he had through which to relieve his ever mounting frustration. Though he had to admit that doing so did carry some considerable risks. As much as Tom hated to admit it, on account of both his proud human nature and Inferus side’s distaste of admitting lack of dominance, the man did hold power over him; the slightest hint from Abraxas that he’d ‘gone out of control’ would see the entire force of the Order of the Phoenix coming down upon his head.

Even as the Number One of the current generation, up against forty six foes at once he’d be overwhelmed. Which was, perhaps, the only reason he hadn’t shaken off their chains years ago.

“We know better than to waste our breath doing such a thing. Your inappropriately vocal disagreements would be far more trouble than settling a batch of unfinished weapons is worth. Though I must admit that we do have some concerns about how unrestrained you are with the use of your power. You may be a half-breed but I know you’re not a fool and you’ve seen what happens to those who…take things too far.”

“I know my limits.” His hissed susurrus joined with that of the wind. “I simply prefer my fights to end quickly. A gross display of power is preferable over a battle dragged out too long.”

“Once you’ve finished playing with them, perhaps. We all know that your tendency to dissect your prey is where your moniker comes from in large part, ‘Heartless’. That being said, I suggest you mind yourself in the future: it would be a shame to put you down prematurely. You’re the strongest we’ve produced in centuries and we’ve yet to find an adequate replacement.”

“Just go back to using Wizards; the Organization already broke that rule with me.” Tom grunted. “What would you have me to do, then, if not suppress my Aura?” he prodded further, annoyance coursing through him when the other man failed to elaborate in a timely manner.

“We’ve a few jobs lined up for you in Gryffindor Province, to the South. They should break your boredom nicely, give you the chance to burn off steam, and take you far enough away from Ravenclaw Province that you won’t continue riling anyone else while doing it. They should serve to keep you busy, at least for a while.” He said. “And should more arrive in the meantime I’ll get in touch.”

He had to admit that the offer of a distraction was quite a tempting one. To have a chance to get out and prowl the countryside again. To get embroiled in a good fight. It would be just the sort of break he’d need to save him from going completely crazy. “And what jobs would these be?”

“Two separate villages in the Province are being terrorized by Inferus; one in Godric’s Hollow and the other in Ballycastle.” He said. “You’ll handle Godric’s Hollow first, as they were the first to send word for our assistance.”

“They’re simply Inferus? Nothing more than that? How many in each town?”

“One, most likely.”

“One?” This was _not_ what his idea of a ‘good fight’ amounted to. It wasn’t even going to be a fight at all. “Single Inferus of the most general sort; have you lost your mind? I am this generation’s Number One! My function is to take out entire towns which have been overtaken by Inferus, dismantle whole covens of Magicals and put down the strongest of my own fellows who have lost themselves to their monstrous sides! Sending me after such targets wouldn’t only be a waste of my ability, it would be a job well below my station!”

“Below your station? You seem to have _forgotten_ your station! You’re a weapon, nothing more, and are beholden to the will of the Order of the Phoenix! The Order has decided to dispatch you to handle this matter! And you will obey!” He snapped. “You will perform the indicated jobs and any others that spring up in their aftermath, as if your sole function and purpose for existing as you are! A Claymore without a purpose amounts only to a weapon without a purpose and a weapon without a purpose is a weapon for which we have neither need nor use. Number Two would be more than pleased to receive the promotion that your euthinization would provide in the interim of our finding a more suitable replacement. And Numbers Three through Eleven could use the further training.”

Tom’s teeth clicked together but he gave no other sign of his annoyance. “Even busy work is better than sitting here any longer.”

“I knew that you’d come to see it our way, Voldemort. You’re a sensible beast, after all.” His posture betrayed his relief to again be free of the cold and the wind as Abraxas turned and began heading back towards the building.

How he wished the Order had never discovered his only fear. Then they wouldn’t have been able to exploit it against him the way that they did. But they had, inevitably, and here he was. Forced to bow to creatures weaker than him. To fight against the Inferus for their sake and against his own inner monster for the sake of his sanity and for not having to be hunted down himself. In his training days he’d thought of little more than vengeance, but now he knew that he wouldn’t make it out of taking it alive.

Godric’s Hollow wasn’t a town that he’d been to before, but he knew that it sat on the border of the central Province of Avalon and the Southern Province of Gryffindor. Walking there and without once stopping to rest, reaching it would take him just under three days.

Without a passing thought or hesitation Tom stepped over the side of the precipice. The wind howled louder as it whipped around him, the mountain side blurring slightly as he passed. The drop would have killed any human and most Inferus or Half-breeds that attempted it, but with precise and timely direction of his Aura his legs were more than able to hold up against the landing’s crushing blow. The stone beneath his metal greaves was not so lucky, shattering into dust and jagged shards with a loud and very satisfying crack.

Pausing only long enough to determine the direction of his travel, Tom set out along the serpentine bank of the river towards the South.


	2. The Beast of Godric's Hollow

Those who saw the scrawny boy dressed in nearly rags never would have thought him above the age of twelve and might have believed him an orphan and a street urchin for all that he was smaller than he should have been and covered in dirt.  Never would have thought that he was kept in the home of one of the best off families in the entire village, nor that he was treated worse than a slave. And even if they had been able to guess, not a single person within the village of Godric’s Hollow would have cared; certainly not now, when a monster had been using the town as a hunting ground leaving and eviscerated corpses lying about in the streets as it pleased.

Harry James Potter, sixteen years old and indeed an orphan since the age of just passed one though certainly no street urchin of any sort, was a wizard. A ‘Magical’, as they were called. And ‘Magicals’ were, in many circles, considered to be ‘sub human’ and nearly as dangerous as the Inferus themselves. None in the village were very pleased with his presence there, many had wished harm on him in the past, and very few people would so much as notice if he were to drop dead one day beyond what it would take to sigh in relief for the sake of the return of ‘normalcy’ to the small southern village.

Still, the indifference towards his plight showed by most of the residents of Godric’s Hollow was much preferable to the cruelty of his relatives, and because of this fact he tried his best to spend as much of his time as possible out of the house. Not that that chance came very often, what with his constantly having to maintain the gardens and clean the house and cook breakfast lunch and dinner every day.

He’d simply dipped out on the vast majority of his duties for that day, and though he knew that he’d be severely beaten for it when he returned Harry had deemed the payoff worth it. He simply couldn’t take being cooped up anymore, constantly subjected to his Aunt Petunia’s nasal voice and eternal complaints about either his ‘freakishness’ or something done or not done by one or more of their nearest neighbors.

He’d bolted while he could when she’d been distracted by the batty cat woman from across the way and his cousin, surprisingly swift and agile for his girth, had almost immediately given chase.

But even waifish as he looked he was still fast enough to outrun Dudley by a small margin, and strong enough to climb out of reach of the pummeling the other boy no doubt had planned for him, especially with the help of the adrenaline coursing through him.

He dodged left around a market stall overflowing with sweet smelling peaches and rolled beneath a moving cart, only narrowly avoiding being crushed to death beneath its great wooden wheels. Pushing himself up onto all fours and then two feet Harry pressed onwards, never bothering to brush the dirt from his already smudged and tattered tunic and pants. A number of the people that he passed shouted their displeasure after him but Harry ignored them and tore around the next corner.

He launched himself off a small rise in the road, wrapped all four limbs around one of the support pillars of the nearest building and shimmied up it onto the roof. Pulling the whole of his body out of reach just in time to avoid being seen by his panting red-faced pursuer.

Harry rolled over onto his back, his uneven black fringe flopping forward over his scarred forehead and green eyes as he spread his arms to either side of him and he tried to catch his breath. The sky above him was a striking powder blue, the sun beating down to warm his face amidst a scattered few fluffy white clouds. A hawk wheeled overhead, the wind rustling the feathers on its wings as it called out its piercing cry.

He wondered what it would be like to have wings. What it might feel like to fly. It must have been nice, to just pick up whenever you wanted to and go far, far away. Stopping wherever you wanted. Wherever you thought would be the best place to live. To be free.

If he had been like that hawk, if he had had wings, Harry would have used them to fly away from Godric’s Hollow forever. He would have flown until he found somewhere and someone that accepted him. Who had a need, or even simply a want, for his presence.

But that was just a dream; one that hadn’t even the smallest chance of coming true. There was no one that wanted him. Even his parents hadn’t. They wouldn’t have died, and left him behind in the cruel talons of his relatives, if they had.

A small commotion below him attracted his attention and, slowly so as not to risk making too much noise, Harry rolled up onto all fours. The building atop which he’d ended up was, he now realized, the home of the village mayor and the racket he was hearing must surely have been some manner of heated meeting. Curiosity getting the better of him he shuffled forwards to the edge of the roof and lay flat against the shingles, just able to see in through the very top of the open window looking into what seemed to be a study.

The room was packed from wall to wall with men, all of them looking to some degree ruffled, and even in his elevated position he found himself hard pressed to see over their heads to where the mayor sat behind his desk. Harry was quickly able to pick out his Uncle from among the lot, Vernon’s pear-like shape and long mustache unmistakable. In contrast to the man which stood beside him, bent in on himself at clutching at his head in terror, his Uncle had turned an offsetting shade of mauve all the way down the length of his near nonexistent neck. The sides of his moustache twitching about like the tail of an enraged cat.

“What are we going to do about this?” someone demanded from within the crowd. “This has gotten entirely out of hand! Has gone on for almost four months now; it’s impossible to deny them an Inferi is responsible.”

Harsh muttering swept through the pressing crowd, punctuated by sharp and panicked calls of ‘it can’t be a monster!’ and ‘I don’t want to die!’

“What are we going to do?”

“We should start locking up anyone who looks suspicious; if the attacks still continue then we know at least it isn’t them.”

“I volunteer the freak! He’s a Magical; sub-human! And even if he’s not the monster he’s still dangerous enough to warrant it!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he searched the crowd for the owner of the voice which had dared to suggest such a thing, but couldn’t. Not that he’d be able to retaliate in any way even if he had been able to find them, having never had the chance to learn to use his powers.

A number of people seconded this suggestion, one of them of course being his own Uncle, but thankfully the mayor put a swift stop to the matter before it could snowball out of control.

“We will not be locking anyone away, Magical or otherwise. Guessing games will only breed resentment among us, and we cannot afford to play with people’s lives.” He said. “They sent word a few days ago; someone has been dispatched to deal with our problem. The Order of the Phoenix assured me that someone should arrive today.”

“The Order of the Phoenix?” Another man looked caught half way between fear and anger. “You sent for a _Claymore_?”

“A Claymore? But they’re monsters themselves! They cause more damage than they fix!”

“I know, but they’re the only ones who can unmask an Inferi once it’s taken a human guise. The Silver Eyed Demon is the only chance we have.”

A Claymore? He’d heard of them before, of course; his Aunt and Uncle had told him about them many times, no doubt in an effort to terrorize him into behaving. Into acting ‘normal’. Had expected that he would be terrified of the pale, sword baring beings which acted on the behest of the Order of the Phoenix to control the population of Magicals and to put down the Inferus that preyed on humans like wolves did on deer. And though he’d acted as if the stories had had their intended effect, Harry was actually fascinated with the prospect. Infatuated, almost. Fearful to a degree, of course, but certain that he didn’t really have anything to worry about as long as he abided by the same laws as everyone else.  After all the Order was a fair organization of law keepers, weren’t they?

And to think that, now, he’d actually get the chance to see on. Maybe talk to one. Harry couldn’t wait until the Claymore arrived. Maybe a half-Inferus, if that was really what they were, wouldn’t be too afraid of or prejudiced against him to stand his company.

Pulling himself back up from the window as the group inside began to disperse and pausing long enough for the blood that had rushed to his head to settle back into its proper place Harry got to his feet and began to delicate process of negotiating the village from the rooftops.

A crowd had already gathered at the entrance of the village, consisting mostly of grumbling men but a few brave or overly curious women and children could be seen amongst them as well. All straining towards the road, jostling against each other for the position with the best view down it.

Harry, crouched on the fifth roof in from the entrance, looked too.

In the distance a figure could be seen approaching Godric’s Hollow, cloak rippling about them in the semi-arid wind and the long hilt of a massive blade visible where it rose above their right shoulder. As time passed and they grew closer their details became more defined, and soon enough he was able to make out even their smallest features.

The approaching Claymore was a man, though his face could easily have belonged to a porcelain doll. He was tall, towering over the surrounding villagers at just over six feet, and broad shouldered though he appeared far too thinly built to even be able to lift, let alone wield, the gigantic weapon on his back. His hair was such a light shade of blonde that it was almost colorless, styled into a sleek comb over with a single loose curl hanging down between his eyes.

They were silver, just like all the stories said and Harry couldn’t help but stare at him, transfixed.

As the Claymore moved into town with the methodic click of his metal grieves the other villagers shrank back. Some slinking into the shelter of their homes. Others shuttering their windows.  Still more hissing insults. The pale man didn’t react, almost as if he didn’t notice that anyone was even around him.

Then, without warning, he paused beneath the roof that Harry sat on and his head snapped upwards. Instantly every muscle in his body froze up, his own green eyes unable to break the Claymore’s argent stare. The silver irises almost seemed to glow, gathering the surrounding sunlight to reflect it back at him like the moon which hung in the sky at night.

And then he vanished.

On moment he was there and the next he was gone and before Harry couldn’t even process the fact that the pale man had _leapt onto the roof with him_ he’d already been pinned down with the point of the massive sword he carried pressing into his throat.

The Claymore hadn’t broken their gaze despite the sudden motion and those strange silver eyes seemed to spear into him. He could feel another presence slithering about in his mind like a snake. Poking and prodding. Searching for something. His nose twitched once, as if scenting him-which was an odd experience in and off itself-and then stepped back.

Slowly, in fear that any sudden movements would lead him to being pinned again, Harry sat up. Messaging his throat where the blade had pressed into his flesh. “H-Hey, what was that for?”

The Claymore offered no explanation, returning the weapon to its place across his back and jumping back down onto the lane below. Resuming his trek towards the Mayor’s home.

“Don’t just walk off! That’s impolite; I asked you a question! Hey!”

Unwilling to allow the pale man to just carry on along his merry way while treating him like just another shingle on the roof Harry scrambled back down from his perch, almost falling in his haste, and ran after the Claymore. Catching up just as he walked into the mayor’s house.

Huffing in annoyance as the door swung shut in his face he scrambled back around to the open window and peered inside.

The Claymore stood before the desk as the mayor all but cowered behind it while holding a bulging bag of coins aloft, seeming to expect it to protect him from attack.

“Here’s your fee; you can check it if you wish to ensure that it’s all there. Just, please, get rid of the Inferi that’s been plaguing our village.”

“I’m not about to waste my time counting coins. If it’s all there then it’s all there. If it’s not your village will be black listed; I’d give you all about a year before you’re wiped off a map, if not sooner.” His voice was a smooth baritone which, despite the obvious venom lacing the words, sent pleasant shivers racing down his spine. “A strange man in black will come to collect my fee once I’ve finished here. I’m required to recite some drivel along the lines of ‘if I fail and die then you owe nothing and the monster will continue to kill as it pleases’ but I’d suggest you not get your hopes up regarding keeping so much as a single coin. I’m far too high of a rank to be on this bloody job to begin with; consider yourself lucky, human, that you’re precious town receives the best despite being undeserving.”

The cloak which hung behind him snapped as he turned, the floor boards clattering beneath his footsteps as he headed towards the door. The mayor appeared on the verge of fainting but, while propping himself up against the edge of the desk to prevent his knees from buckling, managed to ask “how long will it be before you’ve managed to kill it?”

“However long it takes.”

Harry was out front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest by the time the pale man emerged from the house.

“So will you talk to me now or not?”

The Claymore seemed to pull up short at his words, head tilting to the right as his silver eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Are you not right in the head?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you afraid of me like all the others are?”

“I’m perfectly alright mentally, thanks. Anyone ever told you that you’re rather rude?” He scrunched up his nose in distaste. “As for why I don’t ‘fear you’, I haven’t been given a reason to. My relatives like to terrorize me so I’m not about to trust most of what they have to say about anything, and even when you attacked me back there I wasn’t hurt. You and I are a lot alike.”

“You’re as much alike me as a rock is alike a bird.” The Claymore brushed passed him with such force that he nearly bowled the little raven over. “I haven’t the time or the patience to babysit a child! Make yourself scarce before I hurt you.”

“I’m sixteen, not a child, and you’re wrong! We’re very much alike!” Harry ignored the annoyed growl that rumbled from the pale man’s chest as he fell into step beside him. “The way they’re treating you now-whispering and running and shuttering their windows-is the same way they treat me every day. You and I, we’re both different. And ‘normal’ people don’t like different.”

The only reaction he got was a grunt before the Claymore once again proceeded to ignore him, instead paying a great deal more attention to the generic architecture of their surroundings. The other’s attempts didn’t put him off as much as was likely intended and though he eventually did stop talking he didn’t go away.

“You’re coming to the outskirts of the village now.” He finally said as the last of the houses fell away behind them. The sun hung on the precipice of beginning to sink below the horizon. “There’s not much out here except for the old abandoned mine; they shut it down after it was stripped of all the coal.”

“There are no more houses passed here?”

_Back to acknowledging that I’m still here, are you?_ Harry crossed his arms over his chest again. “No. None that anyone lives in, at least.”

“Good.” Without further pause or any sort of explanation the man proceeded to impale his sword in the ground and sit cross legged on the hard-packed road, his back leaning against it as he dropped his chin to his chest.

The raven stared at the bizarre display in dumbfounded confusion for almost a solid minute before asking “er…what are you…doing?”

“Resting.” Came the expectedly taciturn response. “Travel out of Ravenclaw Province to the East was long. I’ve been walking for seventy hours straight.”

Seventy hours? Didn’t ‘straight’ mean ‘without stopping’ in that context? But what had he done about food in that time frame? About water? How had he not already collapsed from the exhaustion?

Harry looked around them and spied a good sized rock lying at the bottom of a ditch nearby. With considerably more struggle than the whole affair was probably worth, he rolled it up onto the road and within a few feet of Claymore and propped himself against it with a huff.

The position wasn’t comfortable as the contours of the rock pressed into his spine at odd angles. The pale man had cracked open one of his silver eyes far enough to glare at him, obviously annoyed by the attempt at mimicry.

Clearly he’d never heard the phrase ‘imitation is the sincerest form of flattery’.

“So will you answer my question now?”

“Will it make you go away?”

“Probably not.” He admitted.

The Claymore shut both eyes again and, for a while, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer. “There was something different about you than there was about the others. I thought, prior to further examination, that you were the Inferi that I was sent by the Order to kill. When I truly took the time to inspect you, however, that turned out not to be the case. You are human. So I did not kill you.”

The sunlight, tinted crimson with the late hour, made the thin grey one piece that he wore as some sort of uniform shine white and the symbol engraved on his black collar and great sword stand out in blinding relief like flaming name plates.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t introduced himself.

“I’m Harry, by the way. Well, Harrison is my full name. Harrison James Potter.” He said. “What’s your name?”

“That’s hardly a matter of any sort of consequence to the likes of you.”

“Well, I can’t keep referring to you as ‘Claymore’. You must go by something.”

“Number One.”

“’Number One’ is a rank, not a name. Certainly not the name your mother gave you.”

The instant those words left his mouth Harry knew he’d made a terrible mistake. The air around them suddenly felt thick and very cold, his chest tightening until it became difficult to breathe. Both of the Claymore’s piercing silver eyes were open and fixated on him, something monstrous flickering within them.

Harry immediately scrambled to his feet as if he’d been scalded, unsteady and almost tripping over the rock he’d sat against in the process. “I-I just remembered…I should be getting home. I neglected all my chores and still need to cook dinner and if I miss curfew as well I’ll just get beaten worse than usual. Maybe…I’ll see you again later.”

Uncertain if he was more frightened or embarrassed, Harry hurried down the road back towards town.

With the Inferi on the loose in the village most people took shelter within the falsely perceived safely of their homes at the first hint of sunset. Now, with darkness newly fallen, Harry saw no one else on the streets of the town as he ran back towards the home of his relatives beginning to panic and praying that the door wouldn’t have already been locked but fully expecting that he’d have to hide under a bush until sunrise in the hopes that he wouldn’t be eaten by the monster.

To his surprise, however, the door swung easily inwards as soon as he turned the knob. The interior of the house was both dark and silent, as if no one else was home. Now, Harry knew full well that the absence of his less than loving family wasn’t down to a concerned search for him through the streets and thereby came to the conclusion that they’d simply abandoned him to fend for himself and gone to ride out the night somewhere more secure.

Grateful that his beating would be delayed until the next morning Harry moved to slink into his cupboard under the stairs and hide but tripped when his foot caught something large and heavy that had been lying just inside the door. He fell, hard, landing on his knees and elbows in a puddle of a warm thick fluid which he quickly realized to his absolutely horror was blood.

What he’d fallen over was the body of his Aunt. Squinting through the darkness and gagging on the now choking smell of iron from the blood which had smeared across his front Harry could pick out the body of his Uncle as well, lying not too far away near to the handle of the shattered axe.

But if the monster had struck here, then why wasn’t the house damaged in some way like in all of the other attacks? And where was…?

“There you are, freak.” A pair of glowing golden eyes emerged from the darkness in front of him, much higher up off of the ground than anything human could have stood. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to leave before I had dessert. I had just gotten so comfortable in this little village, good hunting and good cover, but you stupid humans just had to call for the half-breed!” The thunderous voice of the Inferi trailed off into a short growled. “But don’t worry, little cousin. I’ll still be keeping some part of you with me. The family will still be together.”

All along it had been his cousin, and it all made so much sense that Harry had to wonder why he hadn’t been able to put it together before now. The first house that had been attacked had been that of one of Dudley’s friends, Peirce, and he’d been over at the time. Not only that, but he’d also been the sole survivor.

A monster in disguise.

He wasn’t about to just lay there and die, knew that no human was strong enough to fight with an Inferi, but maybe he could outrun it. Lead it to where he’d last seen the pale man resting on the road and let the Claymore take care of the beast.

He tried to scramble back up onto his feet and run to the door but slipped in the puddle of blood and fell again. The laughing beast pounced with its teeth bared and he curled into a ball, covering his eyes with his hands in the hopes that if he didn’t see his death coming then it wouldn’t be real and all the while bracing for the pain of being torn apart.

Then the roof caved in above him beneath the force of a tremendous blow, the sound of debris falling all around him joined by metal biting through flesh and bone and a high pitched shriek of pain.

Harry lifted his head, immediately confronted by the sight of metal grieves and a scaly severed arm lying in a puddle of violet fluid which appeared remarkably similar to blood. The Claymore stood over him with his blade in hand, having broken through the roof, and the Inferi-now lacking one of its arms-had recoiled back into the shadows.

“For all that you claimed to want to remain hidden from me in this village you certainly made sure to lay a clear trail. Your scent was all over the boy; he led me straight to you.”

The monster snarled. The raven caught a brief flash of movement before taloned fingers, elongated through some fel power that he neither could nor wished to fathom, shot out of the shadows. “Look out!”

Harry had felt certain that the sneak attack would impale the pale man but to his complete shock he seized all five of them in a single fist. Stopping them cold only inches from piercing into his chest.

“I haven’t the time for games. At my rank, your ilk is far too weak to be of any amusement to me.” The sword flashed again, severing the fingers at the first knuckle and sending more purple blood splattering in all directions. Another shriek shook the house as the fingers were tossed to the floor with a sound of disgust. They clattered when they hit the wood, one of them bouncing into Harry’s lap; he flung it away with a howl of alarm. “Even slicing you up piece by piece, saving your head for last, doesn’t hold any appeal. So you’ll have to forgive me, beast, for cutting this short.”

Harry had been pounced on by the Claymore, subjected to a bone-chilling glare after bringing up said Claymore’s mother, had tripped over his dead Aunt and fallen into a puddle of her blood, had been attacked by his monster cousin and then had one of said monster cousin’s still twitching severed fingers land in his lap. Just when he thought he’d been subjected to every horror that one night could possibly throw at him he saw the Claymore’s features twist; warping from something that could have been found on the statue of an angel to a horrific visage of bulging veins and pointed teeth, his eyes turning gold and slit pupiled to match that of the Inferi.

The last thing he saw before his mind shut down from shock was the Claymore’s blade splitting the monster’s skull in twain.

 

       ᚦ

 

Crows cried out from the trees around him as the pale fingers of new sunlight clawed their way up over the horizon. Cold morning air rested heavy and damp against his skin as Tom secured his spaulders back into place about his shoulders and then pulled his sword from the hard packed earth, scattering bits of soil and small pebbles about him in a wide arc. The metal clattered as he slid the weapon back into its place.

It was about time for him to be moving on towards his second job in Ballycastle, another slightly bigger village which lay just across the wastelands. He’d been there once before, though by this point it had been many years. Hopefully, once this was finished, Abraxas would make himself useful and give him a job that was actually worth his while.

At least he was free of the brat, now. What had been that boy’s problem anyway?

_Such an odd child._ Tom snorted, adjusted his wrist plates and then began his trek towards his second piece of busy work. _Why am I even still thinking about him? He was nothing but a human child and none of my concern. So why? Could it be that…?_

Hissing, he shook himself free of his thoughts. There was no need to dig up the past. No need to remind himself of such…weakness.

He needed to get away from Godric’s Hollow. To leave the village, and the brat, behind him. Distance, surely, would free him from whatever _this_ was.

And, for a while, it seemed as if it might work. As the sun rose higher and chased away the morning chill from the land his swirling thoughts stilled and silenced and he settled back into the hollow blankness he’d long ago grown used to.

But that was interrupted when the sound of something heavy tumbling down an embankment reached his ears, along with the smell of a sickening mixture of human and Inferus blood. Nose curled against the offensive stench but curious about the source of the sound Tom moved closer through the trees.

Soon enough the forest broke at the base of a small cliff; lying at the bottom, twitching every now and then, was an approximately annoying-brat sized bundle of cloth loosely tied with a coarse rope. Exhaling through his nose and turning his back on the struggling form Tom walked away.

_Stupid humans._ He slipped back beneath the dappled shadows of the sparse forest. _Did they really think that I’d have left him alive if he was an Inferi? To abandon their own so callously. Pathetic._

But it wasn’t his problem and he wasn’t about to make that change. The death of the brat, if it did happen, couldn’t have been traced back to him in any shape or form so there was no need for him to fear punishment for indirectly violating the ‘Golden Rule’. And no reason, thereby, for him to so much as lift a finger.

Chasing all thoughts of the child from his mind, Tom set his eyes on the distant stretch of sand on the horizon across which lay his next assignment.


	3. Obligation of the Heartless

It had taken him half a day and most of his energy to finally struggle free of the bundle that the villagers had tied him up in before dragging him out of Godric’s Hollow behind a horse and throwing him down an embankment. Now, breathing hard and feeling more lost than he ever had in his entire life Harry managed to free his arms from beside him and rip the thick cloth off of his head. At last able to breathe properly the raven put all of his focus into wriggling his way out of his bonds and, eventually, tumbled out of the cocoon of rope and linen onto the uneven leaf strewn ground.

For the second time in his relatively short existence his life had been destroyed. The first time it had been at the hands of a troop of bandits that had murdered his parents for only a small handful of coins yet hadn’t had the stomach to kill a child; he’d been too young at the time to really feel most of the effects of the loss that he’d suffered then, aside from having to grow up as practically a slave to his relatives. This time he’d lost his family again, and not only that but he’d lost his home and any chance of assured food and shelter as well.

He’d never been treated well, but at least he had survived. Had been fed, if minimally. Sheltered, if minimally. Certainly not cared for in any real capacity but even that was better than this. The village had abandoned him. He was somewhere out in the middle of the woods.

Alone. Scared.

Just the day before he’d lingered, as he usually did, on his great dream of wanting to have the chance to leave Godric’s Hollow and go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where he could be free. But now all Harry wanted to do was crawl into his cupboard under the stairs and hide.

He had no one, now. No one to look after him. No one to help him. No one to care. At this point, whether he lived or died was solely up to his own actions and chance being on his side.

Behind him rose a steep cliff of about thirty feet, sheer and cracked and nearly impossible to climb. Beyond it laid the place he’d lived for all this life. The village that had so casually thrown him away. He couldn’t go back; even if, through some miracle and with scratched and bleeding fingers, he managed to claw his way back up the embankment he’d been thrown down there was no telling what they might do. In fact, he was lucky as it was that they hadn’t simply killed him to begin with.

In front of and to either side of where he knelt was a forest, the expanse of tree unremarkable and less than stellar in regards to offering any sort of shelter from the elements. Beyond them the horizon dipped sharply into a flat expanse of baking sand which Harry recognized immediately as the Wastelands. It was in that direction that the familiar clatter of grieved footsteps that he’d heard a number of hours before had gone. It was in that direction that the Claymore had gone.

The pale man hadn’t tried to help him, had simply walked away and left him to suffocate or starve or get eaten by some animal. Clearly didn’t want him around and probably wouldn’t bother to assist him in the likely event that he succumbed to the desert’s harsh environment without supplies but he had to follow him.

He was the best chance that Harry had of finding his way to the nearest town. Maybe someone there, at least, would be willing to be of help to him. To hire him for work, if not take him in. No one had to know the truth that he was a Wizard; in fact, it was better that they didn’t. He’d been treated much more fairly that way.

Limbs already unsteady from exertion and feeling somewhat dizzy with the lack of food and water Harry pushed himself up onto his feet and stumbled forward in his best estimation of the direction in which the pale man’s footsteps had gone. He was covered in small cuts from the sharp bits of metal wood and slate which had rained down on him when the roof had broken in, the scabs which had formed over them cracking with his movements and beginning to leak blood. Frizzons of hot pain, though far from the worst he’d ever felt, radiated through him as he glanced down to check the color of the beading liquid.

Red. Not violet, nor any shade even remotely close to it. Thank God. At least he had the fact that he wasn’t transforming into a monster himself going for him. Though how much of a help that fact would prove to be in the long run yet remained to be seen.

Bruises spiraled out in strange, near mesmerizing patterns. Purple blue and sickly yellow mixing with dripping crimson to spread across his tanned skin like paint splattered across the canvas of some mad artist. He was probably quite a frightening sight to behold. Probably smelled pretty bad as well, if the blood caked state of his hair and clothing was any indication by which to reference such things.

Small relief that it was much too dry and hot on the desert’s lip to sustain the flies which would likely otherwise have swarmed around him. The first thing that he’d do upon reaching the nearest town was find somewhere to take a bath and wash his clothing; make himself presentable enough that someone might consider him as a passable option for menial work. Labor, most likely, but that was fine. Of course, such things would have to wait. He had no water with him, now. No water at all and no source of it nearby.

He was so thirsty. His swollen tongue had glued itself to the top of his mouth and it was now difficult to breathe. But at least the forest provided some shade. He’d miss it, certainly, once he stepped out into the desert.

Harry hadn’t the slightest clue how right he’d been with that prediction until the hard earth gave way to shifting golden sand. Maybe he was a Seer? He certainly wasn’t thinking rationally anymore.

The glowing bits of shattered rock reflected to brutal sun at sharp angles, blinding him. The wind scooped handfuls of sand into the air and threw it back at him, the little grains scratching at his face irritating his eyes and pulling what little moisture was left from his already parched mouth and throat.

The earth gave beneath his feet, sucking him down and forcing him to expend far more energy than he could afford to put in a single step to make it half the distance that he’d been able to in the forest.

His exposed skin reddened and tightened under the unrelenting sun. Lifting up from the flesh beneath and boiling up into countless painful blisters.

There were times that Harry thought he saw a familiar figure in the distance, becoming more and more frequent as time passed, but it had to have been a mirage. Or else the product of his mind, rapidly beginning to shut down as it boiled within the confines of his skull. There wasn’t any way that he could have caught up with the pale man that had entered the desert before him, unless he’d doubled back, and why would he? Certainly not to help him.

He’d abandoned him once, so why not again? What would leaving him to die of dehydration and exhaustion in the wastelands change from leaving him in the Wastelands change from leaving him to suffocate or be eaten by wolves in the forest.

At the top of a dune his knees gave out and he tumbled head first down the ridge of sand. Sliding to a stop at the bottom face down in the sand. Harry tried to get up, to fight off the exhaustion and the thirst and the heat and keep going, but couldn’t. His elbows wobbled, then caved and he ended up right where he started. Face down. In the sand.

It was over. He was going to die here, out in the middle of the Wastelands, and no one would find him. No one would even try to look for him. Because there wasn’t anyone left in the world that cared.

Sand was searing against his already badly sun-burned skin. Pouring over his body as the wind ripped and tore at his clothes and his hair. And then hands were gripping his arms, lifting him upwards into the air.

His cheek came to rest against something hard and cold and his eyes fluttered open enough for him to make out what it was. The black tongue of a high collared livery, emblazoned with a silver symbol which seemed familiar to him but was one which, in his state, he couldn’t place. But…where had he seen it before? And…where was he?

He was so tired. And the cold press of metal felt so good against the painful tightness of his burned skin. He was safe with whoever this was, surely. He knew them from…somewhere. They would keep him safe. Had rescued him.

Maybe there was someone left who cared about him after all.

Nearly blind from his fading consciousness and the grit of sand which had gathered in his eyes Harry raised one of his hands enough to grip pale fabric that his savior wore, nestling closer to the soft ticking of their heart beat.

“Thank you.” The words were so weak that they were nearly swept away by the wind. “For saving me.”

If his rescuer replied, he didn’t hear them.

       ᚦ

Motes of dust swirled in the gentle shaft of sunlight which slanted in through the clear panes of the window, illuminating the soft beige tones of the settee which had been draped across his body alongside a set of crispy clean sheets. Someone had bathed him while he’d been asleep and repaired his clothes, and all traces of sand and blood were gone much to his relief.

He was still parched and starving, but that was much better than what Harry had expected. The cuts on his skin had healed, the bruises had faded near to nonexistent and the brutal sunburn had cooled from a furious crimson to an irritated pink with the application of soothing ointments and was beginning to peel in many places.

The raven sat up slowly, a radiating exhaustion spreading outwards through his limbs, and looked around at the room that he’d been left in. Modestly furnished and moderately sized, but clean and well kept. The floor, like the furniture, was made of wood and a woven blue and white rug added a splash of color.

Before he could really work out where, exactly, it was that he’d ended up the rattling of a door knob drew his attention towards the door just as it swung open. An unfamiliar man stepped into the room, holding a pitcher of water and a tray of food in his hands.

“You’re awake? Thank goodness; after the fourth day we’d begun to worry.” He crossed the room and set the tray across the raven’s lap. “You came very close to dying out there in the Wastelands, young man. Might I ask what you were thinking, running out into the desert without supplies?”

Despite his best efforts not to look at the food on the tray or breathe too deeply and risk smelling it, Harry’s mouth watered and his stomach growled. “I didn’t really have much choice, Sir.” He said. “I’d rather not talk about why, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, I’m not a man to pry into the private matters of others.” He said. Harry couldn’t help but sigh in relief. “What are you waiting for, son? From the look of you, you must be famished. Eat up.”

“I don’t have any money and no way to pay for what you’ve already done for me. I-come to think of it, where am I?”

“You’re at Stone Crest Inn, in Ballycastle.”

“An inn! Oh Lord, I certainly don’t have the means to pay for that! I could work the debt off, I suppose, but-.”

“Now, there’s no need for you to be worrying about that. Your room, board and medical expenses have all already been taken care of.”

“They have?” But how could that have been? “What do you mean? Taken care of by whom?”

“By the Claymore that brought you into town.” The innkeeper told him, his voice taking on a note of almost nervous confusion as he confirmed “we called for the Order to send someone, of course, as an Inferi had been coming into the village and killing people for quite a while now. Everyone knew that he was coming, but to see him walk out of the desert with you in his arms…it was very strange. Their kind is hardly known for acts of charity, after all, and he didn’t seem to be the friendliest serpent in the pit if you understand my meaning.”

“I do.” Harry looked down at his hands; his nails were cracked and blackened with grit. “You’d be better off talking with a cactus, to be honest.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized that you were his…companion.”

“I’m not.” He picked up a piece of fresh bread off of the tray. “He seemed pretty fed up with me back in Godric’s Hollow, actually. I don’t really know why he saved me.”

“For what it’s worth, I doubt there’s anyone outside of the Order of the Phoenix who can truthfully claim to understand the Silver Eyed Demons.”

“Has he left?” he asked. “I doubt that he’d actually answer my questions, but I’d still appreciate the chance to ask them.”

“I don’t believe he has, no. From what I understand, he’s been a bit too distracted by your condition to devote his full attention to catching the monster. Luckily he seems to be powerful enough that his presence alone is enough to keep it at bay.”

“What do you mean he’s been distracted?” Harry had a hard time believing that the gelid man was even capable of becoming distracted by anything. Had seemed the type afflicted by a terrifying sort of predatory singlemindedness when he’d first ran across him, at least for the sake of finishing his work quickly.

“He’d spend all night and almost all day tracking the Inferi, yet every morning we would find him posted in that chair by the window watching you sleep. He almost seemed to be worried for you-as much as one of them could be-which is part of why I asked if you were his companion.” The innkeeper said. “You can go and look for him if you wish once you’ve eaten, though it may be safer for you to wait until he returns on his own.”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’m afraid I haven’t the patience for that.”

“Well, if you’re certain that you want to go running off after him I won’t stop you.” He said, heading back towards the door. “Enjoy the rest of your stay while you’re here in Ballycastle.”

Once left alone Harry tore through the entire contents of the tray, finishing off every last crumb and draining the pitcher of water in just over five minute’s time. Feeling as if he’d eaten more than he ever had before in his life and with nothing left to keep him from hunting the pale man down and demanding answers Harry leapt out of bed and bolted from the inn.

Ballycastle, it was immediately evident, was many times larger than the village he had come from and was built into the rock at the base of a small mountain. A thick forest was visible growing just outside of the village limits and seemed, to Harry, to be as good a place as any to start his search for the pale man; given the lack of skittish panic which seemed to accompany the Claymore’s presence he doubted that the man was anywhere in Ballycastle itself as of current.

He set out towards it at a stiff job and quickly made it out of the village, passing beneath the rippling shadows of the trees; much taller and thicker than those which had grown near Godric’s Hollow. Birds chirped merrily in the branches overhead. Insects droned in the thick undergrowth. A soft breeze wove its way through spread leaves and under woody vines, playing with a few stray strands of his raven hair and brushing against his face as it passed. A stag paused on its way to stare at him warily before darting away into the brush.

The temperature was warm and humid, unmistakably laced with the dying breaths of summer, and surrounded by the pulse and life of the forest Harry found himself feeling surprisingly at ease despite the potential danger of a monster lurking somewhere within. His surroundings weren’t familiar, exactly, but he could perceive no danger nearby so didn’t think too much of caution as he continued further inwards.

The ground was too leaf strewn and hard packed with lack of recent rains to leave much chance of footprints so Harry simply followed what little was visible of the twisting form of an overgrown game trail.

He’d been in the forest for about an hour when it happened; abruptly, all the larger animals seemed to disappear and the bird calls and insect activity stopped. Even the playful breeze seemed to flee, leaving him alone in the middle of a suddenly hostile forest.

The trees were silent; so deafeningly silent that the absence of sound rang in his ears alongside the soft rush of his blood and abruptly pounding heartbeat. Silences like that only came when there was a predator nearby.

Was it the Claymore that he was looking for? A pack of wolves? A bear? Or…?

A twig snapped behind him and Harry whipped around with a shout of alarm, sending crows rocketing up out of the branches of a tree some distance away. Meeting the confused and somewhat startled gaze of a pug-faced young woman who couldn’t have been much older than he was, Harry attempted to compose himself as best he could, cheeks burning bright read with embarrassment.

“S-Sorry.” He managed weakly after another moment had passed. “I thought that you were…you startled me.”

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” She said, emerging fully from the brush. Her dress was plain, he noted, and she carried nothing with her. He couldn’t help but find it strange to encounter a woman so far out into the woods; his Aunt Petunia certainly would never have done such a thing, but that could have simply just been her. Who was he to be able to say what other women were like; he’d always paid far more attention to the other men. “What are you doing out here? Didn’t anyone tell you that this forest is dangerous, especially now that a monster lives somewhere in these trees.”

“I’m looking for someone,” he said. “A Claymore; the one that came to Ballycastle to kill the monster. I was hoping to ask him a few questions before he goes running off again. Come to think of it, what are _you_ doing out here?”

“I’m out here picking herbs and berries; my mother is a weaver and she needs them for her dyes.” She said. “And I did see a Claymore a bit earlier this morning. A man, yes? About six feet tall with a snide resting face?”

“That sounds about right, yeah. Where did you see him?” she seemed alright, but Harry had to admit that something about the man made him feel wary, all of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. She claimed to be gathering herbs and berries yet had nothing with her to carry them in. It simply wasn’t adding up.

“Not very far from here, really.” She said. “I can lead you there.”

“No, that’s alright. Just point the way.”

“It isn’t far.”

“I don’t want to trouble you, Ms. You did say that you were busy.”

“No trouble at all. Really.”

“I’d rather not be accompanied if it’s all the same to you.” He definitely didn’t want to be near her any longer than he had to. Harry had begun the slow process of backing away some number of words ago, a small voice in the back of his head screaming at him to run even as his legs didn’t seem quite able to properly compute the message.

“You’re quick to catch on, but not quick enough. Not that it really would have saved you either way.” She had him by the neck before he could blink and by the hair a moment later. His head wrenched back as far as it could go and claws poised to slit his throat from ear to ear. “I have your little pet, Half-breed! Show yourself, or his pretty little head pops off!”

To the left of the path the shadows shifted, revealing the pale man’s thin form. “Go ahead. You didn’t really think that a human hostage would do anything to change the outcome of our fight once I’d finally caught up with you, did you? I’m not called ‘Heartless’ without reason, beast. I care even less for that boy than you do, having not even the use for his meat. Not that he has all that much of that.”

His captor hissed out a sharp laugh, pulling his head back even further and making him cry out in pain. Almost imperceptibly, the Claymore’s expression twitched. “You might actually have convinced me of the truth of that, had I not seen you when you came into the village some days ago. You saved this child from the Wastelands, not out of simple obligation as you may seek to claim but because you care for this meat!”

“What makes you think something as preposterous as that?”

“You could have slung him over your back like your sword, over your shoulder like a pack of supplies or even dragged him into Ballycastle by the ankle. But instead you held him to your chest with his head resting over the heart you claim to lack, cradling him as if he were your own.” Was that true? His memory of what had happened were fuzzy, to say the least, but he could recall being picked up. Being carried. One burned cheek resting against the black collar around the other man’s neck. “Being only half-human doesn’t spare you their weakness, it seems. He reminds you of your past somehow, I expect. Of a brother that you had. Or a friend. Or even, perhaps, of yourself.”

_Cold grey eyes stared down at him as he struggled against the men who were dragging him towards a barred wagon as the man they belonged to accepted a bag of coins. Payment for selling him to the Order as if he were a piece of cattle instead of a child._

His grip on the hilt of the weapon tightened. “Keep talking, monster, and I’ll carve out your tongue before I kill you.”

“So it seems that I was right, but which was it? Care to share?”

The pale man snarled.

“No? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. You have a choice to make, Half-breed: walk away now and I’ll consider letting you keep your pet, or insist on finishing your ‘job’ and kill both me and the boy. Even if you can get to me before I slit his throat that sword of yours will have to cut through both of us.”

“Are you so certain of that?” Once more displaying the same awesome speed that he had when he’d leapt onto the roof that Harry had been on the Claymore closed the gap between them faster than he could blink, his eyes once more burning a hellish shade of gold. “You shouldn’t be.”

He swung and Harry braced for impact, to lose his arm at the very least and be killed at the very worst, but though the huge weapon shrieked passed his left ear close enough to catch at his hair the blow never came. Against all laws of nature the solid metal _bent_ , missing him entirely and carving into the monster behind him in a series of undulating ripples which flung violet blood in all directions.

 _His sword,_ the raven stumbled a few steps away in utter bewilderment, _it moved like a snake._

Before he could even attempt to work out how such a thing could be possible the pale man had reappeared in front of him; one of his grieves slammed into the center of his chest, sending him flying down the path and out of reach of the battle.

Harry landed hard on his left shoulder, rolled three times and finally came to a stop at the base of a thick tree. Gasping for air and with his chest on fire, he spat a small mouthful of blood out onto the ground.

“What? But-! How did you do that! Trickery! It isn’t fair!”

“No trickery, though perhaps the explanation is a bit too complicated for a beast like you to comprehend. Even so I suppose there’s not much harm in telling you; it isn’t as if you’ll survive long enough to spread the information around.” The weapon made a high pitched keening sound as it continued to blur even while held seemingly still at his side.  “Every solid object on earth has a unique frequency at which it begins to transition into something closer to a liquid. I just so happen to be fast enough to vibrate my sword at its particular necessary frequency, giving me the ability to slither around every defense obstacle and _hostage_ that my opponent attempts to put forth. Though it’s rarely necessary.” He said. “Overall, I find your performance pathetic and I’ve spent more than enough time dealing with you as it is!”

A moment it later it was over, the Inferi’s headless body slumping to the ground with a sickening splat. The pale man flicked blood off of his blade and returned it to its place across his back.

With the taste of iron still heavy on his tongue, Harry pushed himself up onto his feet and wobbled a few steps forward. “Thank you. For saving me again. I-.”

“I’d assume that you’re out here looking for an answer as to why I rescued you from dying in the Wastelands?”

“Yes, but-.”

“Don’t expect me to tell you you’re in some way special. You’re not. No matter what you think and what that Inferi said you shouldn’t misunderstand: you mean nothing to me.”

Harry had known as much, deep down, but to have it said so bluntly and directly to his face still hurt. He could feel his green eyes burning, a wetness gathering in their corners. “Then why? Why did you even bother? Why did you carry me out of the Wastelands, pay for my room and board and medical attention and sit by my bed in the mornings? Why didn’t you just let me die, then, when you were so happy to do just that in the forest? _I heard you walk away!_ ”

“A selfish instinct towards self-preservation, nothing more.” His eyes had returned to silver and now regarded him with a terrible coldness. “The Order of the Phoenix operates under a single golden rule which allows us to maintain harmony with your kind; it’s necessary as, without it, there would be no way for you to be certain that we’re even on your side at all. Claymore are forbidden, without exception, from taking human life. We cannot be responsible, even indirectly, for the death of those that we protect. Your village throwing you aside couldn’t have been traced back to me, so I didn’t interfere. Your floundering into the Wastelands after me could have been. I’m not about to allow myself to be beheaded over your stupidity.” He removed his gaze from Harry, dismissing him as easily as if he were an unidentifiable substance smeared across the bottom of his shoe, and began to walk away. “I’m leaving now. Do not continue to follow me.”

The Claymore was quite a ways ahead of him by the time Harry managed to pull himself together, scrubbing tears out of his eyes to clear his vision, and took off running after him. If the pale man believed he couldn’t kill him-there was no reason for him to make him aware of the fact that he was magical, and likely fell outside that ‘golden rule’-then there was no reason for him to be afraid of his threat. If he didn’t want him around that was fine, it wasn’t the first time that he’d be subjected to discontentment with his presence. Not to mention that his best chance of finding his way to someone who _would_ want him was to continue to travel with the pale man; Ballycastle, he’d decided, was much too close to Godric’s Hollow.

Maybe Ravenclaw Province would be a nice place to live. Or Slytherin.

_Nice try. But you’re not getting rid of me that easily!_


	4. The Foolish Proposition and the Long Walk

Harry felt like he was going to die. Like his knees were going to bend backwards and break. Like his legs were about to crumble into ashes and fall off. He was more than familiar with ridiculous levels of exertion while working to take care of his relatives’ house and fulfill the heaps of chores that the Dursley’s had seen fit to drop on top of his head and had felt ill from overworking himself on more than one occasion but it had never been as bad as it was now.

It felt as if his insides were all tied up into knots and that his stomach had been turned inside out. He could taste acidic bile in his mouth and vaguely recalled the fact that over salivation was considered to be a telltale sign of an impending fit of vomiting.

Having lost sight of the Claymore some hours before due in part to his own faltering stamina Harry figured that pausing to catch his breath and regain a firm hold on the paltry contents of his stomach-consisting largely of pine needles, bark and a handful of berries which may or may not have been of the poisonous sort-was a better, much less time consuming option than forcing himself to continue forwards until he couldn’t anymore and covered the forest floor with a puddle of sick. Which, considering the prevailing winds of his abysmal luck thus far, he’d be likely to fall into as well.

Beginning to be able to make out odd shapes in the corners of his vision and very much aware that that was likely not the greatest sign, the raven staggered the last few steps to the nearest tree and slid down into a seated position at the base of its trunk. Immediately, in the hopes that it would help him to get a quicker hold on his unhappy stomach, Harry put his head between his knees and did his best to focus on his breathing.

It took a while, the better part of an hour maybe, but the bubbling clenching pain eventually went away and the odd bile-taste disappeared as well. Not quite trusting the discomfort to remain at bay if he moved again the little raven remained exactly where he was for about ten more minutes, taking deep breaths, before he finally worked up the courage to push himself back up onto his feet.

He remained unsteady, eyelids drooping in exhaustion from the constant activity he’d been subjected to while following the pale man and from the stint of unconsciousness from which his body hadn’t had the chance to fully recover, but was able to keep his feet with an at least passable degree of competence and continue onwards through the trees.

With the approach of fall the night was just cold enough to raise faint gooseflesh along the length of his arms. Broken by the bows of the towering trees into bars of deep blue, the night sky which stretched over head was cloudless and studded with countless stars. The air around him smelled like rich soil, pine sap, rotting leaves and wood smoke.

Wood smoke?

Turning in the direction from which the smell was most likely to be coming from and squinting through the satin darkness Harry could just make out the dim flicker of dark orange light that made the shadows dance between the trees. Aware that the fire which was likely the source of the light could have belonged to anyone and that the person responsible for stoking it could potentially be dangerous in any number of ways he approached cautiously. Moving with all the silence that his fumbling state and the leaf and stick strewn ground would allow, Harry crept forward towards it through the trees.

Soon enough he could make out clearly exactly what the light’s source was: as he’d expected, a small fire had been built from twigs and fallen leaves in the center of a clearing. Beside it, sitting profile to him with his back propped against his massive blade, was the Claymore.

Before he could even step beyond the tree line a familiar voice from behind him hissed “I thought I told you not to follow me, boy! Are you not able to tell when your carcass isn’t wanted?”

Harry doubted that he’d ever get used to the immense speeds that the pale man was capable of. A powerful hand descended on the back of his neck, lifting him off of his feet by the scruff like a naughty kitten, and shook him roughly for good measure. Likely for want of a physical outlet to his frustration which wouldn’t lead the source of them to permanent harm.

Unable to do much more than struggle in a vain attempt to free himself and demand to be put down, the raven was carried the length of the clearing before being dropped into a heap beside the stuttering fire.

“What a damned fool you are! Haven’t you any sense of danger? Any inclination towards self-preservation? Clearly you haven’t any care towards my desire to see the last of you, you incessant little pest!” It wasn’t the first time that Harry had had to endure such a tirade against him, nor was it the most vicious that he’d ever had to sit through. Well aware how best such things could be handled, the raven positioned himself on his knees and lowered his head to wait out the storm. “I’m a warrior, not a bloody baby sitter! Not a caretaker! Certainly not any sort of wise choice for a guardian! I don’t walk a road that something as fragile as a human could survive to follow; continuing this inane stupidity will only get you killed! Find some other pass time!”

“I’m not following you out of a want to annoy you; despite what you might think, Claymore, I’m not an idiot.” Given his situation and what he was facing Harry thought he did an incredible job of keeping his tone frigid. Though he didn’t look up from where he’d rested his hands in his lap he could tell from the soft hiss that this had taken the Claymore by surprise. “I’m an orphan. My village cast me out. My last living family is gone, now. I haven’t anyone left and no prospects within Gryffindor Province. I want out, will gladly go anywhere else, and you’re my best chance of managing that.”

He heard him growl, then retreat back towards his sword. “So you thought it best to throw your lot in with a hybrid whose control could snap at any moment? You really are a fool.” Cruelty was nothing Harry wasn’t used to. Hearing the pale man sigh he looked up to see him run a hand sharply through his frosted curls. “I was stuck either way; thought that if I told you the blunt truth about my saving you having been out of obligation and nothing more than you’d stop this but clearly I was wrong. I may as well have made you think I give a bleeding damn for all the good it did keeping you away.”

“Will you let me travel with you out of Gryffindor or not?”

“I’ll take you to the next town outside of this Province and leave you there, regardless of whether it’s to your ‘satisfaction’. Attempt to follow me beyond there and I’ll break both your legs. Do you understand?”

“And if I decide to crawl after you?”

“Then I’ll break your spine. Don’t play with me, boy; you’ll sorely regret it.”

“Oh?”

“Cutting out your tongue wouldn’t kill you. I know of ways to stop the bleeding. Ways which involve shoving a hot coal into your mouth.” From the deadly expression on his face Harry had no doubt that he would do it, without a second thought, if pushed.

An inability to fatally harm him didn’t amount to an inability to harm him at all; he might have made a slight miscalculation in that regard.

“I’ll pull my weight while I’m with you, I promise. I’m not out to be a burden; I can be useful.”

“Useful?”

Something about his scoffing tone really set the little raven off; he clenched his fists in his lap and narrowed his green eyes into a sharp glare. “I may not be as strong or as fast or as tough as you are, I may only be a human and only sixteen but I’m neither worthless nor useless! I’ve had to earn my keep for almost sixteen years just to be given the scraps off my relative’s table and be allowed to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs so don’t you _dare_ scoff at me as if I’m somehow less than you are just because I can’t swing around a sword the size of my body! I can cook for you, at least, while we’re in each other’s company.”

“In a week’s time I require three small mouthfuls of food and enough water to fill a clam’s shell. I have no need for a chef, boy. No matter how valuable that skill might be to a human it’s useless to me, and that means that _you’re_ useless to me.”

Harry turned red up to his ears. “I-I could clean your sword, then. Sharpen it. And care for your armor.”

“I do that myself; you couldn’t even lift my spaulders, let alone my sword.”

“I can repair your uniform, if it rips. I know how to sew.”

“The Order sends replacements for anything I break. Repair work isn’t worth the trouble.”

Red became crimson and angry floundering transformed into something closer to chagrin as he tried to work up the courage to play the only card that he had left in his arsenal. “I…that is to say, I’ve never…well…” he gripped the bottom of his tunic so tightly that his nails bit through the threadbare fabric and managed to squeak out “I’m a virgin.”

The Claymore blinked at him slowly, like a lizard sunning itself on a rock. “Am I meant to pity you for that? Consider you deprived for never having had the chance to drag ash? Why does it matter to me that you’ve yet to be deflowered?”

Did he actually not understand what he was trying to offer him or was he pretending not to just to be cruel? The blush had crept from his face down the length of his neck and out across his chest. “Do I really need to spell this out for you?” the icy glare that he received was more than answer enough. “I’ve never…your face-at least-is attractive though your attitude could use a lot of work and I have nothing else worthwhile to offer you, apparently, so…”

“You’re offering to let a monster bed you? You’re more of an idiot than I thought.” He reached for the collar around his neck and pulled it open with a metallic pop.

“Hey, that’s a horrible thing to say to someone who’s just given you a-.”

His outrage was cut off by the abrupt ripping of fabric as he opened the uniform he wore, revealing what was underneath “still think that I’m ‘attractive’?”

Harry wanted to be sick, from the shock of the grotesque sight if nothing else. The pale man’s body was toned and beautiful, just like his face, but a massive gash marred the white skin running the length of his body from just above the clavicle downwards. Milky white skin transitioned to a glossy irritated red, pulled taught where the thick, blood stained fibers of the stitching which had been hastily sewn across the gaping wound to prevent his insides from spilling out onto the ground had been threaded through. He almost wretched, but caught himself at the last moment.

“I thought not.” To the raven’s relief, he replaced the fabric into an orderly state and refastened the collar. “Not that it matters either way; I wouldn’t have accepted your offer regardless. All buggering you would lead to is my losing control of my Inferus half, and immediately proceeding to eat you.”

Unable to pay more than menial attention to what the Claymore had just said, still too deep in shock from having seen the giant wound, Harry could do little more than splutter out a wholly ineloquent “What _is_ that?”

“My Stigma; we all have them. They slit us open when we’re still children and implant the flesh and blood of monsters into opening, creating a wound that never heals until we lose all traces of our humanity.” If anything, the pale man seemed to find his shock amusing. “How did you think one became a Half-breed? Fairy dust? Idiot.”

“Does it hurt?”

The question seemed to startle him, and for a moment the Claymore seemed off balance but he recovered quickly. “Once again, you’re asking about things that do not in any way concern you.” He sat down and propped himself back against his sword. “We’re moving again at dawn; do _not_ make me have to wake you up and do _not_ slow me down. Am I understood boy?”

“Yes.” The raven said miserably, scrapping together a small pile of mostly dry leaves into a passable enough bed and curling up on his side. “I wish you’d stop calling me ‘boy’. I told you my name: It’s Harry!”

He expected the Claymore to either sneer at him and say nothing or inform him that he didn’t care. Instead, he leaned further back against his blade and informed him sharply “You will refer to me as ‘Voldemort’.”

       ᚦ

A blue bird twittered in the branches overhead, fallen leaves and loose gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked along the narrow ledge of the path as it wound its way along a steep embankment. The lower that they went and the closer that they came to the river visible rushing by below.

Harry’s feet hurt and his steps were clumsy, causing him to teeter dangerously every now and then on the crumbling lip of the precipice. Despite the fact he kept his mouth shut and didn’t complain, knowing full well that Voldemort wouldn’t much appreciate such a disturbance.

They hadn’t once spoken since the harsh “get moving” that the older man had delivered him that morning when the red and orange fingers of sunlight had first crept their way up over the horizon.

The sun was setting, now, and they hadn’t once stopped to rest. Harry’s feet were dragging gracelessly across the uneven ground, feeling more like sacs of pulverized gristle and bone than any real part of his body. The slowly dimming daylight reflected off the massive sword slung across the Claymore’s back in dizzying prismatic patterns. The pale grey cloak behind him fluttering hypnotically in the wind.

Even with the terrible image of the Stigma slashed down the pale man’s front still burned into his mind Harry couldn’t completely stop himself from eyeing up the warrior from behind. The uniform he wore was practically skin tight, leaving very little to the imagination, and his muscular thighs were quite shapely.

The blade and the cloak that Voldemort wore conspired against him to hide what he really wanted to see, though. No fortuitous gusts of wind had come to his rescue and Harry wasn’t about to risk losing his hands to move the cloak himself.

The Claymore stopped suddenly and turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. Harry managed to pull himself to a stop seconds before he bumped into him.

“You’re tired, Harrison?”

He wished that he’d call him ‘Harry’ and not ‘Harrison’ but at least it was better than ‘boy’. There was no reason for him to deny that he was tired now, and seeing as he’d been asked about it directly it could no longer be considered complaining.

He nodded. “A little. But I can keep going for as long as you want us to.”

His silver eyes narrowed but the little white lie regarding his capabilities to keep moving went otherwise unaddressed. “We’ve gone far enough for one day; we’ll camp by the river.” He held his arm out to him, obviously expecting Harry to take it. He hesitated for a moment, but that led to the Claymore making a noise of annoyance which quickly had him obeying the unspoken request. “Hold on _tightly_. I don’t want to have to be held up even more by having an unwanted tagalong that has to crawl around on broken stumps.”

 _I’d rather not **have to** crawl around on broken stumps so I suppose we have common ground there._ He wrapped both his hands around the metal bracer covering the length of his forearm; despite how small they were, his hands still almost managed to entirely encircle the width of the Claymore’s limb, and for a brief moment he once again marveled at how he could possibly manage to possess the strength that he did.

His knuckles turned white against the silver metal, gripping it as hard as he could. Voldemort’s motion was a glorious rush of speed and color, down over the embankment and skipping across the canopy of trees like a smooth stone sent skipping across a calm lake. Even in stopping his motion was graceful, the rocky river bank barely disturbed by the sudden appearance of his grieve-clad feet.

Harry’s motion, however, didn’t stop as Voldemort proceeded to toss him-clothes and all-into the river. The raven barely had the chance to yelp in surprise before he broke the surface, a cold sensation swamping his awareness as water forced its way into his mouth and nose. Disoriented but able to swing his feet underneath him Harry came up spluttering.

“You reek of sweat; scrub your skin and your clothes before you make me sick with your stink! That water should be clean enough for drinking as well.”

“You could have just asked me to take a bath if it was bothering you so bloody much!” Harry ripped his now soaked and clinging shirt up over his head and tossed it into the water in front of him; it landed with a limp flop. “You didn’t have to lob me into the river, bastard!”

Voldemort responded with a snide sneer before busying himself with starting a fire. Muttering darkly to himself and very much aware that the Claymore could hear it but not caring Harry busied himself with washing his clothes and scrubbing his skin until it turned faintly red before leaving the water.

The Claymore had gotten the fire started and had reassumed his statuesque rest position; eyes closed and chin resting against his chest. He didn’t look up as he approached. More relieved than annoyed, if only slightly, Harry shook out his dripping hair and set about the task of hanging his clothing over the flames.

His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him yet again of the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since leaving the Stone Crest Inn in Ballycastle. Voldemort suddenly perked up again, though it was clear when his head turned back towards the trees that it wasn’t the raven’s state of hunger that had roused him.

“May I go and look for food nearby? I’m starving and won’t be able to keep up with you tomorrow if I don’t at least eat something.”

“When I return you may go, but not before.” He rose from his seated position with a single fluid motion and started off back towards the trees. “Remain here until then.”

“Until you return from where?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Well, how long will it take before you get back?”

“However long is necessary.”

Annoyed that his companion-he only used this term in the barest sense-refused to give him even the most basic of answers, Harry glared after him as he disappeared into the darkening trees. His stomach grumbled again and he huffed.

 _I don’t need his permission to do anything! We’re only traveling together; he’s not in charge of me. I don’t have to wait for him to come back from who knows what after who knows how long and I’m not about to do so either!_ Turning his back on where the other man had disappeared, Harry headed off in the opposite direction. _There must be something edible around here somewhere._

ᚦ

The sound of the river had faded away to a distant burble by the time Tom finally stopped, the metallic echo of his footsteps bouncing off the surrounding trees before dying away into silence.

“I have to say that you’ve caught me by surprise, ‘Heartless’. Of all the Claymore in the Order’s ranks I would have pegged you as the least likely monster to pick up a ragged little stray.” Abraxas voice came from just off to his right; Tom turned his head and caught sight of the black clad man perched casually atop a boulder. “The boy is ruining your image, Voldemort. Why haven’t you gotten rid of him?”

“Do you think I haven’t tried to rid myself of my shadow, Abraxas? Twice, now, I’ve attempted to leave him behind. Twice, now, he’s followed right on my heels. We’ve come to the agreement that I’ll leave him in the first suitable human settlement outside of Gryffindor Province.” Tom said. “He’ll be gone soon.”

“The first ‘suitable’ settlement sounds like an excuse; it allows you to keep your pet with you indefinitely so long as you can come up with a justification for the village or city in particular not being so.” He hissed at him in reply but the black clad man ignored him. “And even if it’s true what you claim and you don’t wish to keep him with you, I’m sure you’ve heard the saying ‘if you give a mouse a cookie’. When he asks you for milk, will you give him that too?”

“I haven’t given him anything, yet he’s still here. Short of killing him, there’s no changing that and his annoyance isn’t worth the cost.”

“You wouldn’t kill the boy even if he were to turn out to be an exception to the Golden Rule. You’re fond of him, on some level. Even if you won’t admit as much to even yourself, it’s true.”

“I don’t give a damn about that child.”

“Don’t lie, Voldemort. Brittle falsehoods don’t suit you.” Abraxas drawled. “You’re fond of that boy because you can see the ghost of yourself inside of him. Magical or not, he’s everything you once were and can never be again. He radiates what you lack and it draws you to him like a moth to the flames of a fire. In some half-life capacity, being around him makes you feel human again. How sweetly sentimental.”

Tom showed his teeth at the man, annoyance sparking yet further when he didn’t offer up even the slightest flinch despite his deep growl. “If you’re quite finished with weaving your fictional tales, Abraxas, I’d prefer to be informed of why you’re here. Have I been assigned another job?”

“Indeed you have, Voldemort. Are the other two through with?” even through the darkness Tom’s impeccable vision could still make out the man’s snide smirk. “The reason why I ask is that it took you oh so very long in Ballycastle to complete a job which stood ‘below your station’. Though I suppose you were…distracted.”

“Is it worth my while, this time?” he demanded, refusing to show his handler the rise that he wanted.

“In some ways it is, but in others it isn’t. You’ll be facing a normal Inferi, if perhaps one that’s a bit more powerful than usual, but this time there’s fair enough justification for dispatching our top warrior to handle such a thing.” A small draw string bag was lobbed at him; Tom caught it deftly with his left hand. “Given whom our client is our leaders have determined that they deserve the best. And that means you.”

Tom removed his hand from within the bag and was met with the sight of round, tan pills. His eyes narrowed. “Why am I being given these damn things? Suppression Pills mess with my senses far too much to be of any use to me, never mind the fact that taking them would close the gap between me and my opponent by a large margin; I’d be facing the Inferi hiding in the city as a Twenty Four instead of as a One. On top of that, I wouldn’t be able to sense the thing at all.”

“Yet you would still be capable of handling it.” He said. “What’s wrong, Voldemort. I thought you wanted a challenge.”

“There’s a difference between a ‘challenge’ and a ‘disadvantage’. Why have these even been handed to me? Simply to raise the stakes and make for some sort of show?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve given you those pills because you won’t be able to do your job without them; our services have been procured covertly and absolute discretion is required to not violate certain conventions held regarding those of ‘dubious character’.”

“’Dubious character’.” Tom repeated, dropping the pills back into the bag and pulling it shut. “But the only city that gives any sort of damn about that is-.”

“The Holy City of Avalon, yes.”

“Why not send one of the others; one of the few who actually believe in their drivel about ‘religion’ and ‘God’?”

“I’ve already told you, the Holy City deserves the best. And the best we have is you.” He said. “Recall what I said about a failure to follow orders if you intend to refuse again. We’d prefer not to replace you with a sub-par successor before such is absolutely necessary but if you make it necessary than it will be done. An execution squad can be dispatched within two days; they’ll find you within a month, depending on how hard you attempt to hide.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do the job.” Tom tucked the bag into the small pack at his side. “Just don’t be surprised if you get complaints of ‘Demonic blasphemy’; I don’t do ‘devout’ very well.”

“All the more reason to finish the job quickly, isn’t it? There are enough pills in that bag to keep your eyes hidden for a month, though I wouldn’t advise allowing it to drag on for that long.” He said. “The suppressants become toxic in high doses, after all.”

Tom grunted in disinterested response. “How do you propose getting my weapon passed the guards? The great sword is our signature, after all, and a bit of a glaring give away.”

“You’ll be given the concealment when you’re a day outside the city. Making use of the boy by claiming he’s your brother would also help to make it all seem more believable. Beyond that it’s up to you.”

“I understand. It should all be done within a week.”

“The boy as well?”

“The boy is outside of the confines of my job.”

“Is Avalon not a ‘suitable human settlement outside of Gryffindor Province’?”

Tom walked away without dignifying the half-question with an answer. He’d dealt with Abraxas for more than long enough by now, at least so far as he was concerned, and figured it was about time he dealt with Harry’s complaints about being hungry and needing food instead.

He’d forgotten how much of an absolute pain it was to have to eat three times a day just to function.

The fire was still going strong, popping and crackling beneath the damp clothing which had been stretched atop it, as he emerged from the trees but the bank was empty. The raven, nor any sign of him, wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

One of the small muscles in his face twitched. _That little brat’s incapable of listening to **anything** I say!_

It was getting dark rapidly now, and though he was very much aware that the raven had probably gotten himself lost out in the forest, or would end up that way soon, and equally tempt to leave him hanging in the wilderness as punishment for his disobedience Tom knew he couldn’t do that.

There was too much of a risk that the idiot would get himself killed.

With all of his clothing wet, including his shoes, the little raven had proceeded barefoot over the rocky bank and into the trees and had left a small trail of blood from the resultant superficial cuts behind; combined with his scent trail Tom had more than the necessary tools left to him to hunt him down.

He didn’t expect what he found.

It was the offensive stench of burned hair that first cued him in to the fact that something wasn’t right, followed by the recognition of recently used magic hanging in the air. He sped his pace from a walk to what would be considered a run by a normal man and soon came upon the source of the smell.

Curled up into a quivering ball and half hidden under a berry bush, his tan skin smudged deep purple where the fruit had pressed against him, was his traveling companion; Harry’s green eyes were fixed on him and he had a look of fear on his face but Tom wasn’t paying him very much attention.

The forest immediately surrounding Harry and the bush he’d sheltered under looked as if a fire had come roaring through; the undergrowth had been reduced to ashes, the trees were blackened and the ground was scorched and ringed in by the embers of smoldering fallen leaves. The charcoaled bodies of what might have once been a small pack of wolves lay burned to death between them.

Claymore were built to hunt down the Inferi, and though they were used to kill Magicals as well they couldn’t sense them. That was why he hadn’t realized what the child was.

A Wizard, just as he had been before he’d been sold away and turned into a living weapon, and a powerful one at that. But to still be having accidental magic, accidental magic linked to strong emotions like fear especially, at the age that he was…

“You never learned to use your magic did you?” Harry flinched and shrank further back into the bush as he continued towards him; he looked like a terrified Fey, green eyes huge and glassy and wearing only the leaves of the bush and the ashes of the forest floor. “You kept quiet about what you were because you suspected that it would mean that you fell outside the Golden Rule. Clever. Luckily for you, I need you for my next job and it won’t be long after that that I’ll be able to leave you behind once and for all. There’s no point in wasting the energy that it would take to kill you.” He said. “Get up.”

The command was soft, but harsh. The branches crackled as Harry shifted forward and then, slowly, stood up. He was a sight to see and a traitorous part of his mind, before being abruptly crushed and ground to dust beneath his heel, flashed back to the offer he’d made him just the night prior; no reason even be considering such things.”

“Move.” He stumbled, more than walked, and Tom ultimately ended up dragging the boy back towards the fire. “You need another bath; you’re covered in ashes, dirt and fruit. While you’re busy doing that I’ll see about catching a fish for you to eat; you’ll be able to cook it?”

The raven nodded at him, that same blank stare still fixed in place. Given time to calm down and rest he was certain that the boy would return to normal, but for now he’d enjoy the brief reprieve from his stubborn cheek. Tom watched him wobble off towards the river on thin unsteady legs while doing the best he could to beat back even the vaguest thoughts of his past.


	5. The Holy City of Avalon

Travel from the Northern most edge of Gryffindor Province to the Holy City of Avalon for which the Central Province of Driaocht had been named had taken them the better part of four days and over the course of that period of time the raven had come to accept the fact that his traveling companion had really meant what he’d said about his intention of allow him to live, at least until the job that had been laid ahead of them had been completed. By this point he’d recovered both from the shock of what he’d done when the wolf pack had ambushed him and from the amount of energy that it had taken to do so but still Harry kept mostly to himself. There was no reason to go and prod at the other man, especially not now that he had nothing to protect against finding himself at the point of the massive sword he carried around aside from a shaky determination of ‘not being worth the required energy’.

Such a determination could easily change if the raven was to nettle him enough, and Harry certainly didn’t want that.

Voldemort had seemed more agitated than usual the night before, he’d noticed. Thankfully that agitation hadn’t seemed to be aimed at him; though he hadn’t really spoken about it Harry had managed to put together from the snippets that he’d caught of his mutinous grumblings that something he would need for the upcoming assignment hadn’t been delivered when it was supposed to be.

Which was the reason behind their having stopped in the middle of the day, apparently. He hadn’t really explained what he would be doing when he’d left Harry sitting on a small stump just off to one side of the path. He hadn’t really thought to ask for details before the Claymore had walked off.

Birds twittered and fluttered about overhead, knocking the occasional branch or leaf down on top of him. A large bee buzzed its low drone into his ear, fleeing only once he swatted violently at it. When a twig broke to his left he swung his head around in time to see a figure emerge from the trees.

It took him a moment to realize it was Voldemort.

The Claymore’s uniform and armor had vanished, doubtlessly rolled up and hidden in the large pack he now carried at his side, and had been replaced with deerskin pants and a dark green tunic with the collar done up high enough to conceal where his Stigma began to encroach on his neck from view. His weapon had been hidden within the wooden body of a large string instrument the like of which the raven never seen. Something about his face seemed different, but at first Harry couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

His erstwhile silver eyes were now black.

Aware that the change must have been a part of his cover but confused as to how he’d managed it Harry pushed himself up onto his feet. “Voldemort?”

“Tom.” Onyx eyes settled on him with all the same forcefulness that they were capable of while silver. “You will refer to me as Tom, not as Voldemort, while I use this cover. Tom is an innocuous and very human name that will not draw undue attention. And drawing undue attention is not something that I want to be doing, understand?”

Harry nodded. “Yes Vol-Tom. I understand.” He said. “Your eyes. How did you…change their color? Is it a skill that Claymore are capable of? Being able to shift the color of their eyes to whatever they wish?”

“No. We’re called ‘Silver Eyed Demons’ because our eyes become, and remain, silver after or transformation baring the use of ten percent or more of our Dark Aura at which point they turn gold. Should we succumb to our Inferi-half, or take the Suppression Pills that I was given for this job, our eye color reverts to what it was when we were human.”

“So it’s the transformation into a Claymore that turns your eyes silver. Does it turn your hair blonde too?” Tom nodded, apparently bored with their current line of questioning. “What color was your hair before you become a Claymore?”

“Thinking before opening your mouth in the future will prevent you from asking questions the answer to which you have no right.” Was the harsh reply. “Do you remember what we went over last night, Harrison?”

“I do.”

“Recite.”

“I’m your younger half-brother who you only really met a few months back after our mother and my father died. I’m devout and worried for losing my family again and after many consecutive nights of pleading managed to convince you to take confessional and potentially be baptized in the Holy City to ‘save your soul’.” He said with a small sigh. “Your occupation is that of a jongleur and bard and after we crossed the paths and realized we were family I began to travel along with you.”

“Good.” He said, jerking his pointed chin towards the path. “Let’s get moving. We’ve wasted enough time here as it is on account of Abraxas’ stalling and the Order’s general incompetence. I can’t afford to delay anymore; these pills only last about eight hours. Even less when used to suppress a Dark Aura as strong as mine.”

The raven nodded and fell into step behind him as they resumed walking.

“Walk beside me, not behind me. You’re supposed to be my brother not a servant or the unwanted company we both know you really are.” Tom seized him by the arm without giving him the chance to reply and hauled Harry up beside him. “Allow me to ensure that this has been made crystal clear from the outset so nothing is misunderstood; the way that I will be treating you while in public within the city is nothing but an act.”

“I understand; I’ve told you before that the fact that you don’t want me around is known to me. You can quit saying it now.” Harry grumbled as they approached the crest of the hill. “I’m not really the terrible midge out to constantly harrow you that you’d make me out to be. And you’ll be rid of me soon; just leave me in Avalon and be done with it.”

“I can’t ‘just leave you’ in the Holy City, Harrison. You’re a Wizard, and once that’s found out-which it will be eventually, given your inability to control your powers-you’d be stoned to death as ‘unholy’.”

Harry set his gaze ahead of him. “No one wants me around.” He kicked a small pebble up the path.

Tom replied snidely “can you blame them?”

The raven pushed his companion’s words aside as they made it to the summit and looked down into the valley below them. Even from their distant position the Holy City of Avalon was magnificent, its four fortress-like stone walls surrounding a towering cathedral and all nested amidst a forest of flourishing green.

Tom had continued ahead of him without even bothering to call out a demand that he follow. Harry took brief advantage of his raised position and the lack of the cape that he’d been wearing before the peer briefly around the shapely sides of the instrument still worn across his back, catching a brief and admittedly vague glimpse of his _very_ fine arse.

Blushing furiously, he scrambled after him.

“Do I want to know about your motivations for yet continuing to eye me up like a choice cut of meat?”

“Where else do you expect me to find the levels of beauty necessary to cancel out your atrocious personality?”

Rich tektite eyes shifted left to focus in on him. “I’m not going to dignify that question with a response, given that it can’t decide whether it’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It can’t be both in equal measure?”

“Take a stance and stick with it.”

Harry huffed and folded his arms across his chest. “Fine, then, I’ll take a ‘stance’. My ‘stance’ is that you, Sir, are an insufferable asinine prick!”

“Feel free to leave at any time, boy.”

The raven snorted. “As if; if I have to deal with you then I’m getting my money’s worth out of it.”

“Then stop complaining.”

There hadn’t been anyone like Tom back in Godric’s Hollow, not just because of his high and mighty attitude which was more than worth of an aristocrat, and the raven felt that that was part of what had drawn him to the other man so strongly. Harry was used to the dull and the plain, but Tom had been different. Ethereal, both in his beauty and untouchability, and about as approachable as a pagan statue carved from solid glacial ice.

And no matter how much he came to resent the man, he’d no doubt always look back on him fondly for that. Maybe, at some point in the distant future Harry would remember him as a softer figure than he really was.

“Walk faster, Harrison, or we won’t even make it to the city before nightfall!”

Then again, maybe not.

At the bottom of the hill the path straightened and evened out until it reached the point of being a straight shot through a well-tended copse of fruit trees beneath which it ultimately transitioned from hard packed earth to cart-rutted cobble stones.

Not hearing the high cadence of Tom’s tapping footsteps, his grieves having been replaced by a pair of soft leather riding boots, felt odd to Harry now that he’d become so used to it. He wasn’t given too much time to dwell on the lack of the familiar sound, though, as they broke through the trees a moment later.

The great flagstone walls were even bigger up close than they had been from the distant hilltop; a single stone each the height and twice the length of his body. The massive wooden doors were open, and hanging poised to drop over the entrance to the Holy City was a heavy metal portcullis. Its sharpened tips glinting in the light of the late afternoon like wrought iron fangs.

Out front of it stood a guard in full plate armor with the symbol of the Holy City etched into the gorget, the visor raised to reveal the scarred face and suspicious eyes within. Held in his hands were a large jagged spear and a coiled registry as he filtered through the steady throng of people seeking to both enter and leave the city.

Tom assumed his role seamlessly, taking the raven by the shoulder and pushing him ahead. “Come this way, little brother. We’ll have to pass through the registry to enter the city and procure a room for us both in one of the inns.”

His voice had warmed and his vowels had softened and Harry was so shocked by the abruptness of the shift that all he could do was stare at him in dumbstruck surprise as he was carted around.

“You two, over here. No one can enter the Holy City until they’ve been screened; criminals and unnatural beings and individuals are not allowed to set foot behind these walls. If you wish to be allowed entry you’ll both have to submit to a screening.”

“Of course, Sir. We’d be more than happy to cooperate with you, wouldn’t we Harry?”

Oh, so _now_ he’d call him ‘Harry’. “Yes, Tom. Whatever we have to do to be able to check in an inn; I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised, we’ve traveled quite far.” Patting his shoulder gently, Tom returned his attention to the guard. “What would you like for us to do?”

“Step this way, please.” The guard motioned to a small check station which had been assembled beside the road. The pair stepped over to it and Tom was handed a small pen knife. “If each of you would prick your fingers with that it would be appreciated. If not, it can be done by force.”

“Prick our fingers? Why do we need to prick our bloody fingers?” He knew what they were checking for, of course, but the prospect of cutting himself still wasn’t one that Harry was happy about in any capacity.

“Language, Harrison, that’s very rude; this poor man is only trying to do his job.” Tom admonished, taking the small blade and cutting the pad of his thumb. A single bead of scarlet blood formed against the split skin. “It’s the most accurate test that a human can perform to detect the presence of Inferus in disguise, given that humans can’t see them like Claymore can; the blood of an Inferi is violet instead of red. Give me your hand.”

“I can-.”

“It’ll be easier on your nerves not to have to draw the blood yourself.”

Aware that arguing with Tom wouldn’t get him anywhere but hesitant to allow the man to take a blade to him Harry held out his hand. Luckily the knife was keen enough that he barely felt the pain.

“You certainly seem to be knowledgeable about both the Inferus and the Claymore.” The guard seemed suspicious about the matter. Harry cringed but Tom just smiled.

“I’m a jongleur. A traveling Minstrel. I’ve warmed myself by the fires of many odd companions over the years, including the occasional Silver Eyed Demon. I may even have slept in the same camp as an Inferi; there’s no way for me to be certain.” He said. “Well, now that you’re sure we’re not here to eat people what’s next?”

“What’s next is my asking who you two are and why you’re here.”

“I’m Tom Riddle, and this is my younger half-brother Harrison Potter. His parents died recently and I’ve taken him in; some paranoia yet remains, it seems, and he’s since strived to turn me to a more ‘righteous’ path in hopes that it would bring me some measure of protection. We’ve come to the Holy City so that I can take confessional and be baptized into the faith.” He reached out and rested one hand in Harry’s hair, ruffling it in such a believable display of brotherly fondness that it made his chest ache. “I’m not certain that I believe in any of this, but who knows? And whatever it takes to make my dear brother happy is something I’m willing to do.”

“Noble of you either way.” The guard nodded at him and stepped aside to let them through. “I wish you luck in finding your faith, and in caring for your brother. Welcome to the Holy City.”

“Thank you, Sir, on account of both of us.” He said. “Have a good day.”

They proceeded forward beneath the raised portcullis and into the city beyond.

“You’re bloody convincing when you want to be.” He said as they made their way through the streets. “I take it that the Order’s training for Claymores encompasses more than how to fight.”

“Of course. Subtlety doesn’t take us quite so far as I’d once have preferred it, but we’re taught to be able to believably assume any role necessary for any job we may encounter; I can just as easily assume to role of a tutor as a prostitute.”

Harry hadn’t any doubt that that was true as desperately hoped that the man wouldn’t offer to demonstrate such ability; there was no need to add additional fuel to the fire of his unreasonable attraction. “Do you think their little test works?”

“No. A test like that would only ever catch humans in its nets as an Inferi would simply circumvent the guards by climbing the walls between their patrols. Which, I suspect, is precisely what the one they’re currently dealing with did to get inside.”

“Clearly they can’t catch Claymore either.”

Despite himself, Tom allowed an amused chuff to escape him. “Clearly.” He seconded. “Now pay attention because I will not be repeating myself; we’re going to procure a room for ourselves in the nearest open inn and then we’re going to get you food and presentable clothing. From there, we’ll go to the cathedral so that I can scout the area and speak to the Priest responsible for calling in the Order’s aid.”

“And what will I do after that? Sit held up in the room at the inn while you’re out killing the monster?”

“Yes. Your presence would only be a hindrance to me; some Inferus are more intelligent than others and there’s a chance that it could seek to use my divided attention between fighting it and protecting you against me.”

“Solely out of obligation, of course.”

Tom scoffed. “Of course.”

“Watch it, Tom. If you’re not careful with your words I might catch the mistaken impression that you actually care about me.”

The Claymore hissed. “You are to call me Voldemort, boy, unless the situation demands otherwise! I had thought I made that clear!”

“Watch it _Voldemort_ , then. Geeze. Why such a problem with ‘Tom’ anyway? It’s probably not even your real name, knowing you.” What was it that he’d determined a few days ago about not wanting to nettle the pale man? Harry’s shoulders curled inwards as he wrapped his arms around himself. “Let’s just get a room already.”

The inn which they eventually came across was called the _Red Crow_. The little brass bell hung over the door tinkled as they entered, and the man behind the desk looked up before rising the great them.

“Oh, hello.” He said. “How can I help the two of you?”

Again the Claymore’s large, warm hand came to rest atop his head; Harry desperately wished that the touch meant something. It was a futile ache for the affection that he knew the pale man would never give him. That he was beginning to think he wasn’t capable of.

“My brother and I have come to the city to visit the cathedral. We’ve traveled quite far on foot and are both very tired.” He said. “Would you happen to have any open rooms in this inn?”

“We have quite a few. Would each of you want your own, or…?”

“A single room for both of us to share is for the best, I think. My brother has terrible nightmares and its best that I be immediately available to comfort him; we wouldn’t want to accidentally disturb the other guests.” Tom said, the corners of his eyes crinkling around smile lines which Harry knew for a fact hadn’t been there before. “Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Putting forth a mortified blush was simple enough when confronted with the look tom gave him. “Yes, brother.”

“There’s no need for you to be so embarrassed, young man. Nightmares are nothing to be ashamed of, they happen to us all, and the walls here at the _Red Crow_ are thick. You’re quite unlikely to disturb anyone.” He said. “The nightly rate is ten Galleons, six sickles and twenty one knuts.”

“That’s more than acceptable; quite a deal for lodging in the Holy City, if I understand correctly.” Harry was aware that his companion had to have money on him somewhere, he’d paid for his care in Ballycastle after all, but hadn’t seen where he kept it nor did he have any idea just how much he had. The price for the room seemed quite high to him, especially just for one night.  The purse which the Claymore withdrew from the bag he carried bulged grotesquely around the sheer number of coins which had been crammed into it and paying for the room barely seemed to dent its contents at all. “Here you are. Should we need to stay another night, I’ll be back down in the morning to pay again. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my brother and I will head up for a brief rest before setting out for a bit of sightseeing.”

“Of course. Here’s your key.” The man behind the desk handed a small silver key labeled with their room number over to Tom. “I’m also obligated by the City Guard to alert any visitors to the fact that a strict curfew has been enforced; no one is permitted to be on the streets after dark without an escort and express permission from the Captain of the Guard.”

“Thank you for the warning. We’ll be certain to return before then.” Making a show of glancing at the heavy grandfather clock which stood against the far wall, Tom looked down at Harry with an expression carefully schooled to appear apologetically put upon. “Well, it looks like we have just under six hours to get everything that we wanted to do today done. Let’s cut our rest a bit short, shall we?”

The raven nodded and followed his ‘brother’ up the nearby flight of stairs.

Tom slid the key into the lock on the door and pushed it open. The room on the other side was three times the size of the one that he’d woken up in in _Stone Crest_ and was accented with shades of ivory instead of blue. Two single beds stood side by side against the left most wall with only enough space between them to fit a small nightstand and a lamp.

The concealed sword hit the wooden floor with a thud loud enough to make Harry jump as Tom propped it up in one corner, quickly joined by the bag that contained his armor and the little pack of Suppression Pills he’d spoken of.

“Are you able to continue or do I need to sit here for three hours while you take a nap?”

The abrupt shifts in his persona were beginning to give Harry whiplash. “I’m tired, yes, but I can wait until tonight to sleep. That’s all that I’ll be doing, in all likelihood, while waiting for you to come back.” He said. “I’m ready to head out as soon as you are.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Taking the entirety of the giant sack of money probably wasn’t the wisest of decisions, especially when any would be pickpockets would have scarce way of knowing that it’s owner was in fact a top-rank Claymore, but the raven kept quiet on the matter and the pair once more exited the inn.

Avalon’s streets had only gotten busier during the short period of time that they’d been off them, and the closer that the pair came to the market district the more packed they became. Much larger than the one in Godric’s Hollow had been, the Holy City’s market place consisted of a mixture of stores and outside stalls filled with everything from produce to wooden figurines.

Tom led him to a clothing store called _Twillfit and Tatting’s_ and first attempted to turn him loose amidst the aisles of clothing but when that didn’t work-the raven’s cluelessness in regards to what to do with himself quickly becoming quite apparent-the Claymore, obviously annoyed, took it upon himself to dump the contents of an entire clothes rack into his arms and lock him in the fitting room with explicit instructions not to emerge without picking something.

That was how Harry ended up wearing a set of black pants and a dark crimson sleeveless top which flattered his figure despite how thin he was.

He now stood in his hole-strewn shoes staring at his reflection in the mirror with wide green eyes.

“You actually look nice in that.” Tom noted from the position in the chair beside the window that he’d since resumed, the sunlight streaming through the glass transforming his hair into a frosted halo about his head. It was clear that the comment was begrudging. “Is that the one you want?” when the raven shuffled his feet and looked down at the floor instead of answering he raised a pointed eyebrow. “Well?”

“I…its too expensive.” Everything in this shop, hell the entire city, was far too expensive in his opinion. He was currently wearing the cheapest thing in the entire pile he’d been all but buried under, and the price tag was even still enough to make him feel ill.

Tom dismissed his concerns with a flippant wave of the hand. “I have far too much money and almost never spend it on anything worthwhile. Getting you out of the threadbare feed sack that you’ve been wearing up until now is a pursuit that I would consider quite worthwhile. As will be replacing those raggedy little things that you call shoes.”

No room to protest was given to the raven, and after paying for his clothing Harry was dragged to a cobbler’s stall to be fitted for a pair of sturdy leather shoes.

They were the nicest clothes that he’d ever worn in his life, by quite a massive margin, and it was saying quite a lot that a man who made his contempt for him clear took better care of him than his own relatives ever had.

“Are you hungry?”

Harry tugged on the bottom of his new shirt and nodded. “A little.”

The restaurant that Tom took him to was small and quaint and the raven had been able to smell the fresh bread and baked goods emanating from the open doorway before he’d seen it.

“Order whatever you want.” He told him once they’d been seated at a table. “But you’re eating alone.”

All his life, Harry had lived off of the measly scraps which had been left over from the meals that he had made his family. In the past few days, when they’d stumbled across an edible plant or Tom could be bothered to catch him something he’s eaten berries, roots and shoots or meat. At the little café they’d stopped at he had a massive sandwich complete with fresh bread and cheese, a bowl of seasonal fruit-apples and pears and grapes-and a weeping glass of sweet tea. Tom hadn’t reacted much beyond rolling his eyes at the raven’s overenthusiastic sounds of pleasure at the taste of his food but when Harry looked up at his silent companion while half-way through a piping hot gateau he found the Claymore staring at him with an almost wistful glint in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s simply that my past is as much a dogged pest as you are.” He composed himself quickly and turned his aquiline nose up at both him and the cake. “I was simply partial to chocolate as a boy. Was remembering the taste…what it was like to be able to eat the way that you do.”

Harry’s eyes widened as a flash of guilt flooded through him. What was it that the other man had said about how much he needed to eat? Four mouthfuls of food a week and enough water to fill a clamshell?

Requirements like that didn’t leave much room for variety.

Carving out a chunk that wouldn’t be too large for the Claymore’s stomach to handle, Harry offered him his fork. He didn’t expect the pale man to lean forward and eat from his hand, but the raven did still find his resultant reaction more than a little bit uncalled for.

Tom flashed his perfect white teeth at him with a sharp hiss of annoyance. “I don’t eat for pleasure.” He shoved his chair back into place with just shy of enough force to draw stares and started for the door. “Join me outside once you’ve finished shoving that into your face.”

At least they’d already paid.

Harry finished up quickly with the remainder of his dessert before joining his companion outside. Tom didn’t speak to him but communicated his desire for them to begin heading towards the cathedral.

He could feel the annoyance rolling off of him in waves of thorny heat, but all traces of it disappeared from his visage as they entered the shadow of the great building. His countenance resuming the warm, open façade from before.

The raven’s attention was quickly diverted away from his companion by the grand gothic architecture of the building, the ogival archways flying buttresses and sharply pointed spires far more fascinating to him than the unreasonably perturbed Claymore. And the interior of the cathedral was even more beautiful than the outside had been, the clustered pillars and stone floors speckled with swirling patterns of color cast by the spectacular stained glass windows placed throughout.

There was a hushed aura hanging heavy in the dim space, making Harry feel almost obligated to step lighter than usual for fear of breaking the near preternatural silence; he couldn’t be certain, but Tom seemed to feel it too. The warm air smelled of incense, Christening oil and standing water. A few people stood around speaking with priests in quiet voices or were kneeling amongst the pews. A number of rectangular stone boxes lined the far walls; Harry wandered over to one to peer inside and paled when he came face to face with a mummified corpse.

He was dragged away towards the confessional booths by Tom before he could do much beyond shiver; an aged man with a long white beard who wore the gold and violet robes of the clergy.

“Remain here and behave. I’ll be out soon.” The Claymore turned his back on him and approached the man.

“Hello, dear boy. What can we, as servants of God and of the Church, do to assist you?”

“Hello. Are you Father Abeforth?”

“I am. Might I ask why my identity is of such a concern to you?”

“I believe that’s something which shouldn’t be spoken of out in the open, Father. I’ve traveled quite far so that I might take confession.”

“Of course.” The aged Priest motioned to the door of the booth behind him. “Step this way, please.”

Tom ducked beneath the low threshold and settled himself in the wooden bench which sat on the other side, crossing one leg across the other to better fold his body into the confined space behind the screen which now separated him from the elder man.

“Avail yourself of the burden which rests upon your soul, childe. I am here to listen and direct you towards the path of reconciliation with the love of the Heavenly Father.”

Tom couldn’t stop himself from sneering, hidden as he was behind the screen. “I haven’t any need for your ‘Sky Daddy’; my own flesh and blood father was worthless enough as it was.” He drawled. “I’m here to do a job and nothing more, the laws of your city be damned. What can you tell me about the Inferi that’s been making trouble here?”

“The Inferi?” though he couldn’t see him Tom could imagine the surprise which must surely have been dawning across the other man’s face. “You mean you’re-.”

“Yes.” He said. “I am ‘Heartless’ Voldemort, the Number One Claymore of the current Generation sent by the Order of the Phoenix to dispatch the Inferi hidden within the Holy City by the direct order of my ‘masters’,” that last word was spoken with enough vitriol to kill a horse, “Gellert Grindlewald and Albus Dumbledore.”

“So my brother sent the best he had, did he? More as a show of force than any real desire to do me a favor I’m sure.”

Now it was Tom’s turns to pull up short in surprise. “Your…brother?” he repeated. “You’re the brother of one of the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix? What are you doing in a church?”

“I have no interest in my brother or your Order; it’s unseemly of a man of the cloth to hold a grudge, after all. Let’s simply say this-and keep it between you and I, Claymore, because we seem equally as fond of my brother-if it weren’t for Albus’ running off to join the Order and destroying our family in the process I’d be running a bar and tending goats right now. Always have preferred their company to that of humans.” He said. “As for what I can tell you about the Inferi lurking here, I doubt it’s much. It’s killed ten people so far, most of them Priests a few of them Guards and all of them within the cathedral itself which leads me to fear it’s hiding somewhere inside. To think that a monster might be wearing the skin of a servant of God-.”

“Your ‘God’ does not exist to prevent such a thing and even if he did why would it not still try? Do you people not have tales of so-called ‘wolves in sheep’s clothing’?” he sneered. “I doubt that any Inferus, especially one with an appetite such as the one plaguing your city now, would confine itself so completely within such a space. However, as I am here to serve your interests, I shall act upon your fears this night and will expand my search in the nights to follow. Provided you can prevent the Guard from hindering me once my presence is revealed.”

“Thank you, Claymore. You have my word that I will do my best to prevent any interference in your work.”

“I am currently under the influence of Suppressants and though their cosmetic effects should fade within the next hour their side effects shall linger for near another day. My ability to detect the beast from afar is near vanquished; I will require you to gather your remaining Priests and what members of the City Guard are allowed to sit nights within the cathedral so that I might examine them each by hand.”

“It will be done.” He said. “You may simply wish to remain within the cathedral until sundown yourself so you aren’t harried by patrols. It’s near enough.”

He was right, Tom knew. It was best to simply wait there rather than leave and return and run the risk of encountering the Guard. Even if that meant that the menace would once again be present during his battle with the monster, _if_ he found it.

Which he doubted would happen that night.

“I’ll send my companion to collect the supplies that I will need from our room.” Rising from the bench and hissing when he bumped his head against the low slung ceiling Tom stepped back out of the booth. A sharp crook of a finger was all it took to draw the wary raven towards him. “Go back to the _Red Crow_ and bring me my things-both my sword and my armor-if you think that you can manage to lift them.”

“I’m thin, not weak. I couldn’t fight with any of your gear but I _can_ lift it. _And_ carry it.” Harry huffed, green eyes betraying an offended sort of annoyance which Tom didn’t bother to pay attention to. “May I assume that, after I’ve played messenger boy, that you’ll be sending me back to our room again to sit on my thumbs?”

“The sun will have set by then; you’re far too incompetent on your own to escape being caught out by the City Guard for violating curfew. You’ll be remaining here in the cathedral while I carry out the examinations.”

“I will?”

Had it not been for the fact that such a gesture was plebian and thereby beneath him Tom might actually have rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so excited.” He said. “It’s unlikely that I’ll come across the Inferi tonight, and even if I do you’ll be nowhere nearby. Now get moving.”

Harry almost tripped over himself as he scrambled towards the door, eager not to get away from him-as he was used to-but to prove that he was useful for all the same functions as your typical trained mutt; the whole ‘you’re useless to me’ business seemed to have stuck quite firmly in his craw.

At least he’d be out of his hair for a short while, and though he was far from thrilled about laying his cards on the table in regards to his presence within the city so quickly he knew that he would have had to have resorted to it eventually in order to thoroughly check the cathedral.

With any luck the night ahead of him would be fairly uneventful.


	6. Creatures of the Night

“I doubt that I’ll find anything tonight as despite the insistences of my client I do not believe that the Inferi has hidden itself within the cathedral. It obviously does hunt here, however, and though I doubt it will come here tonight as it can likely sense me even while I cannot sense it it would still be negligent not to consider the possibility that it will appear. As such, you will be taking the necessary precautions.

“Which includes staying very far away from where you, the super powerful Claymore who eats Inferus for breakfast, will be in the middle of a very dark very open room? Alone?” Harry, still out of breath from rushing back to the cathedral beneath the burden of the hidden sword and pack of armor, all but collapsed backwards onto one of the pews. “Seems safe.”

“You’re going to be staying up here where you can’t get into trouble, yes. But you’re not going to be staying out in the open.” Tom pointed to the confessional booths with all of the stern forcefulness of an irate teacher ordering an unruly student into the corner. Not that Harry had been allowed to attend school for very long. “You will sit, and remain in one of those until I am finished and come to get you. Understand?”

The raven nodded. “I understand. But is a wooden box really going to protect me from an Inferi that wants to eat me if one does show up? I don’t think there’s a lock on that door, and even if there were couldn’t it just…break in?”

“If you’re already in there and quiet then there’s no reason for anything which arrives later to think to look inside the booths.”

“Couldn’t it smell me?”

“Not with the scent interference that’s covering everything, human and otherwise. Your scent will blend in with the back ground noise. If something does come, just stay still. It will leave in short order when it doesn’t find a meal.” He said. “Now get in the box so that I can attend to my duties for the night. I still need to change and free my sword from this ridiculous contraption.” As the raven heaved himself up from his seated position and walked passed him he heard the Claymore hiss “and if I have the slightest reason to think that you’re watching me undress through the screen on that door I will gouge your eyes out with my bare hands!”

Grumbling to himself about touchy vanity, Harry shut himself up in the nearest booth and secured the door as best that he could in the absence of even a basic lock. As tempting of a view as the bare back of his companion might have offered he didn’t want to risk seeing the Stigma down his front again. Or getting his eyes plucked out. But mostly seeing the wound.

Just the thought of the loose stitch job, the thread stained with the blood which never quite spilled free, and of the skin pulled so taught it looked lacquered made him feel ill. And then he felt guilty for feeling ill because it wasn’t something that the Claymore could control. And then he felt confused over why he felt guilty about thinking badly of the bastard.

Because that was what Voldemort, or Tom, or whoever he was, really was. An insufferable ass who, if such a thing were up to him, would feed people to the Inferus himself rather than lift a finger to protect them.

What was his problem anyway? What had he, Harry, done to warrant being treated with such contempt? Such a lack of even basic human respect? What was it about him that made him so different from everyone else, even someone who was only half-human, that he was always treated as if he were something other; something less?

He slid down the wall into the corner and pulled his knees up to his chest as he heard the click of the Claymore’s footsteps drawing away.

Silence descended like a pall of heavy fabric, so thick that he couldn’t even hear his own breathing and heartbeat. The night latened, grew darker and colder and soon the raven’s legs and back grew stiff from having to sit still for so long.

He fidgeted once. Twice. Tried and failed to shift into a more comfortable position. Finally discomfort overcame his fear and the raven rose artlessly onto his feet. Stumbling from the booth with all the grace and elegance of an incredibly drunk two legged oxen and flopping down onto his back in a pew with an echoing _ker-thunk_!

If the Inferi couldn’t find him by scent hiding in the confessional booth than it wouldn’t be able to find him by scent through the darkness while lying still in a pew. The only reason that the Claymore had told him to sit in the box was because he was a vindictive prick who wanted to make him as uncomfortable as possible; some form of payback for forcing his presence on him. Voldemort had said himself that the likelihood that the Inferi would come to the cathedral that night was low, and that the likelihood that it was already in the building was even lower still. On top of that the Claymore was bound to be finished with his examination of the Guard and Clergy and moment now. He’d be perfectly fine in the meantime.

Would probably do well to get some sleep while he waited; make the time pass just that little bit faster. Settling himself into as comfortable a position as he could without moving too much, Harry closed his eyes and did his best to even out his breathing.

He didn’t know how long he’d lain like that, but he’d just begun to drift off into the soft darkness when something dripped onto his face. Something viscous, hot and foul smelling which swiftly proceeded to slither down his cheek and drip onto the wooden pew below him with a sick sounding plop. Body immediately going stiff with terror, Harry slowly opened his eyes and found himself face to face with the monster Tom was hunting.

ᚦ

The arched hallway amplified his footsteps to a volume which irritated his already sensitive hearing. The cloak that he wore cinched about his shoulders did little to hide his pale hair and now once more silver eyes from view even with the hood pulled down as far as it would go. It was a mostly useless venture anyway; the weapon strapped to his back certain to give away what he was even while the most eldritch of his features yet remained concealed.

It was small consolation that the job should go quickly, and that the brat was away from him awhile. He should be focusing on enjoying that aspect of his current position, at least; a sampling of what it would be like once he’d abandoned the raven at the next village over and gotten him out of his life for good. Once the air around him was free of the menace’s warmth and noise, and the gaze heavy with a mixture of annoyance and admiration was forever lifted from his person. Once the cold and the loneliness returned.

Where had that last bit come from? He, Voldemort, did not require companionship of any form. Least of all from something as weak and worthless as a _human_. He did not feel cold without the child near. And he most certainly had never been subject to such a flaw of loneliness.

Yet still, stuck in his mind like a poisoned thorn or shard of jagged glass, was a distant if undeniable worry for the pest he’d left behind in the cathedral’s hypostyle hall. Worry that he would prove wrong about the monster’s willingness to come to the cathedral despite his presence there. Worry that Harry-no, the boy, he could _not_ start referring to him mentally by his name or he really did risk becoming attached-wouldn’t listen to him and would come out of the shelter of the booth.

Annoyed by the distraction that the little raven still somehow managed to put forth even while absent and incensed as to why he even found himself in the least bit concerned with the wellbeing of the Wizard at all Tom determined that he’d have to put effort into finishing the job as quickly as possible if only for the sake of retaining his sanity.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, his hands tightened into fists and he sped his pace down the hallway yet further. His senses pushing outwards in a futile effort to find purchase against the Suppressant’s lingering restraint; desperate, despite their owner’s stubbornly lauded indifference on the matter, to wash over the boy they couldn’t truly pinpoint in any certainty and surround him with the protection of his awareness.

This needed to stop!  Now! _Before_ the weakness of affection which he most certainly was _not_ subject to cemented itself within ground where it most certainly was not welcome and had no business being.

The Claymore made it to the arranged meeting chamber a moment later, shoulders set forward into a defensive and all together threatening pose and appearing visibly disgruntled. Only the man that he had spoken to earlier-Abeforth, the brother of his most detested ‘Master’ who seemed to share many of his most poisonous sentiments regarding the man, if perhaps in a more diluted form-was there when he arrived and though he could tell from the look he sent him that his suddenly dark mood had him curious he didn’t comment.

Not that Tom would have had the slightest intention of offering any sort of answer if he had.

“You’ve everything with you that you need, Claymore?”

“I do.”

“And the child you brought here with you is safe?”

Safe? No, Harry wasn’t safe. He wouldn’t be ‘safe’ unless he was with him; where he could watch him and make sure that- _the more this went on the more tempted he became to simply slaughter the brat himself to show his instincts exactly what he thought about their going soft!_ “As long as he doesn’t do anything foolish, like disobey what I told him, Harrison will be regrettably unharmed even if the Inferi does show itself.” He drawled. “When will the others be arriving? The sooner that I bely your fears the sooner I can move on to taking steps towards actually finding the monster and the sooner I can see to it that the Magical menace becomes the problem and concern of someone _other_ than me.”

He was given a rather sharp look by the Priest for speaking so cavalierly about the abandonment of a child but Tom disregarded it and the man, wisely, only said “I believe I now see why you’re called ‘Heartless’” before moving on to answering his question. “The others will be here any moment now. The remaining Priesthood and all of the members of the Guard permitted to be in the cathedral after dark have all been told their presence in this room is required. You’ll be checking all of them?”

“I will be.” Tom turned his back on the door just as the first arrivals began filtering through, focusing his gaze on the stain glass window behind them which depicted the battle between an angel and a serpent. He was unreasonably annoyed to realize that the angel in question had black hair and green eyes. “You may wish to explain what’s happening here before I begin my work. They seem confused.”

“Yes, Father Abeforth, please do explain to us exactly why we’re here.”

“It is simply as a precaution; the Inferi has been killing in this cathedral for far too long and, values of our city aside, we all know at the core of matters that the Guard is not about to even find the beast. So I took matters into my own hands and called on the assistance of the Order of the Phoenix.”

Tom chose that moment to turn back around and lower his hood, watching the gathered men recoil as if burned by his silver gaze.

“I cannot believe this, Father Abeforth! How dare you bring that monster here! And into the cathedral no less!”

“I did only what I believed I had to to protect this city and her people. Now please, cooperate with his examination. I’ve been assured that, if the beast is here, he will be able to reveal its presence.”

“Each of you are to line up single file, please.” Tom drawled, a falsetto kindness dripping from every word and his mind-much to his annoyance-still fixated on the raven brat’s wellbeing, “The order that you take doesn’t matter. Once you’ve been cleared, step off to the side.”

They did as they were told, but their reluctance was so thick that he could taste it on the air. As each man stepped up to him and met his eyes, some with fear and others with defiance, Tom searched them for the telltale giveaways of a monster in disguise but found none. A vague echo of the Legillimency he’d once possessed before his magical core had been devoured by his Dark Aura brushed against their thoughts, carrying to him the caustic flavors of wet ash horror at his proximity and acid disgust at his presence.

He’d long been used to such tastes; had found only them and worse before running across Harrison. He’d been quite confused when he’d first searched the boy and, alongside the familiar rare-meat taste of fear, had found a heady mix of roasted almond, vanilla and a tinge or red wine. At the time Tom hadn’t been able to make them out for the emotions that they were, and though he’d since been able to guess at a few of them he’d never the less avoided delving the boy again for fear of being drawn further in. Of becoming used to such things, and making it harder for himself to let go.

Yet now he found himself craving those flavors more than he’d ever craved something before. Anything to wash the persona of the beast from his tongue.

“You’re clean as well.” As expected. The last Guard gave him a hollow stare before walking off to join the others, all of whom were now staring at the man that had called him there. Tom turned and stared too. “You understand that I must search you as well, lest I risk neglecting my assignment here.”

“I do.” He said as Tom crossed the room back towards him; he was taller than the aged man, if only slightly. “In honesty, I’m surprised you didn’t search me first.”

All that the final examination yielded was more nothing and a bitter oil flavor which Tom was mortified to recognize as pity on his behalf.

“As I suspected.” He stepped away, fighting to urge to reach up and rip out his own tongue just to put a stop to the irritation. “It isn’t among you. I believe that it’s been hiding elsewhere, sneaking into the cathedral by night to-.”

His head whipped around at the sound of a scream from the direction of the hypostyle hall, carrying the same cadence and tone as the one he’d heard in Godric’s Hollow before breaking down through the roof which made it instantly recognizable as belonging to Harrison. Tom was halfway down the hall before his mind could catch up to what happening, the stones and torches and darkened windows blurring together into a mass of light and color as he barreled through doorways and tore around corners before arriving back in the cavernous room.

It felt like it had taken an eternity to get there but what little of his awareness had managed to remain rational was well aware that it had been less than a quarter of a minute since he’d left the meeting room.

The green eyed idiot hadn’t listened to him. Had come out of the booth and lain down in one of the pews and was now cowering as the Inferi loomed over him.

Tom flashed across the room as the beast’s taloned hand came down, skidding to a stop against the far wall with the quivering teen clutched in his arms and his heart pounding harder than it ever had in living memory. Pain flared along his back, a red stain spreading from beneath where the dented spaulder on his left shoulder had pierced his skin. Horrified at himself over the reaction that he couldn’t understand he dropped the boy to the floor before either of them could really catch up to what had happened and leapt to his feet. Drawing his sword with the hiss of metal on metal as the Inferi turned towards him with a low growl, his blood painting its claws.

A mere Inferi had managed to hit him. To wound him. _Him_ , Voldemort, the current Number One! The strongest warrior in a thousand years! And all because of an insufferably stubborn teenaged brat who refused to leave him alone.

Why had he moved to rescue him without stopping to think? Why hadn’t he allowed the beast now snarling at him do the dirty work of getting rid of the boy once and for all? Why had his reaction of panic been so strong?

Why had it been panic at all?

“Claymore.” The Inferi grated out, lifting its misshapen paw and licking the blood from its fingers. “I’m sorry, is that boy yours? You shouldn’t have left your toy sitting out like that; it’s an invitation for anyone to play with him.”

The beast lunged with teeth bared; his movements were slower than he was used to, his reaction time delayed by the heavy weight of the Suppressants against his Aura, but Tom still managed to meet it half way and launch it back across the room. The Inferi shattered three pillars and slammed into the wall behind them with a thunderous crash. Tom landed on his feet and almost crumpled as the wound on his shoulder ripped itself wider.

“T-Tom-!”

“ _Stay back; don’t move from where you are, boy, you’re enough in the way as it is!”_ He’d resumed his lacking senses at the worst possible time; out of the corner of his vision Tom could see that he’d risen shakily to his feet but didn’t bother to turn his head to look despite the itch to check him over. The monster was getting back up, and thereby commanded the great majority of his attention. _Damn these suppressants; under the influence of them I’ll have to push myself to thirty percent of my available power, maybe even more, or this thing will really be trouble. And if it tries to use him to its advantage-._ Golden eyes flicked rapidly away from the threat to the boy behind him and back again. _No! Don’t do that; don’t give it ideas when you can’t be certain of what your own reaction to his life being in further danger will be!_

Spider cracks shot through the flagstones below him as his Aura flared, the power that flowed through him in response strangled to barely a trickle of what it normally was but still enough to make muscles shift and veins bulge as a familiar dull ache settled into his jaw and fingertips as his teeth and nails sharpened.

“Stay right where you are, Harrison, and don’t get in my way any more than you already have!” He was repeating himself, but that was hardly important. It was his turn to strike first and he had every intention of taking full advantage of it.

He crossed the room in a single bound, shattering the stones beneath him with the force of his lunge. His blade shrieked but the creature moved and another pillar went tumbling to the ground. Extended claws shot passed his shoulder, slamming into the ground just shy of opening a thin cut along his jawline. Hissing, Tom swiped at them with his free hand but missed.

Briefly his eyes flicked to the boy; Harry had pressed himself as far back against the wall as he could and was staring at the fight going on in front of him with wide eyes, struggling to keep his feet against the weight of his released Aura as it thickened the air and forced the temperature to plummet. Ice began to creep across a few of the higher windows, the lower ones exploding into showers of glittering glass.

He’d pushed as far as the Suppressants would let him but it still wasn’t enough. He was too weak. Too slow. Couldn’t make use of the technique that he had in the forest; the one that he’d never bothered to name. And he was bleeding quite badly, now; leaving a trail of small puddles scattered about the floor where he’d passed.

This needed to end soon.

Tom narrowly avoided another upper hand strike, shrapnel from the broken tiles pinging off the blade and stinging his eyes. Momentarily blinding him. The creature took its chance to lunge.

The Inferi was behind him and moving rapidly away before he could turn, intent on doing exactly what he’d been afraid it would. And just as he’d feared would happen, his instincts acted to nullify the threat before his mind could hold them back.

The pain was the first thing to register, followed almost immediately by the raw copper taste of the blood which forced its way up his throat and the spots that exploded in his vision. When his sight cleared Tom found himself slumped forward over the arm that had passed clear through his stomach and out the other side, showering the raven that he’d shielded in a fine mist of red.

 _My own body betrayed me._ The effort to push himself up into a somewhat more dignified position-as much as one could find such a position whilst at the same time impaled by an opponent which should have been weaker than them-took far too much energy; rather than lifting his upper body all that his hands managed to do was scrabble worthlessly for purchase that they couldn’t find. His hearing had already started to go, but he was vaguely aware of the fact that the brat was yelling his head off and that the Inferi was laughing. Mocking him, no doubt, or maybe taunting the child. _Am I really going to die for this boy?_

Tom didn’t understand. He feared death more than anything else. Had thought that he was above such weaknesses as affection. So why? And why him?

A traitorous voice in his head, strangely smug despite the very real possibility that he’d soon close his eyes and never wake up, was quick to point out the obvious answer. The reason that the child had so intrigued him, despite all his conscious attempts to deny the fact. The real reason for saving him that he’d hidden beneath the guise of obligation even from himself. The reason that he’d let him live, and follow him, even when he knew he didn’t have to.

In far too many ways, they were the same.

He barely felt it as he was lifted and flung across the hall. His body skipping across the broken flagstone like a rock across the mirrored surface of a lake and coming to rest in a limp tangle of limbs when his momentum could carry him no further, leaving a smear of blood across the floor. He was too cold to notice the pain the way that he should have. His vision had begun to dim like his hearing, going in and out in flashes of black and blurry color.

He was alone on the far side of the ruined room, nothing but broken rock and shattered furniture in his field of view.

Darkness.

Harrison was on his knees beside him; had rolled him over onto his back and was desperately trying to coax him back onto his feet as the hulking creature made a slow approach from behind. A wet warmth dripping down onto his face as what little color he had drained away. Tears. He was crying for him? Why was he crying for him? What did he think it would change? It was all over; no matter how many tears the boy shed over his body nothing would change.

Darkness. Longer this time. Harder to surface from. Sticking to him like thick tar, dragging him downwards into an abyss with no bottom.

The smell of putrid flesh burning filled the air, the monster a pillar of flame as the raven collapsed atop him. His warmth seeping into his chilled and nearly bloodless form, the last few tears slipping down his slack face and dripping onto his deflating chest.

Darkness, once again. This time, he didn’t wake.

ᚦ

When Harry awoke his body felt heavy and he narrowed his eyes against the dim evening sunlight slanting in through the windows of the room. White surrounded him, from the sheets draped across his chest to the curtains hung about his bed. His head was pounding, but aside from that he was otherwise alright.

“You’re awake.” Blinking hard to clear the stubbornly resistant spots from his field of vision Harry turned his head in the direction the voice had come from and saw the Priest that had hired Tom standing at his bedside. “It’s been a full day since you lost consciousness. That was quite an impressive bit of magic that you preformed last night against the Inferi. It won’t be a threat to our city anymore; we’re all grateful for that, despite how many of the others may make it seem.”

“Where am I?”

“The infirmary; you weren’t injured, and some salt and fluids along with rest brought you back to good as new. What’s the last thing that you remember?”

That was a good question; his thoughts were muddled, heavily obscured by a befuddling fog. They scattered when he tried to focus on them like frightened fish in a shallow pond; gathering them all into a corner only made his headache worse but once he’d managed to do so he was able to piece together the events of the night before.

He regretted doing so almost immediately.

He remembered how thick the air had become, his breath rising in silver puffs as he struggled to breathe through the deafening sounds of breaking stone and metal slamming against thick hide. The sudden flash of movement as the monster rushed towards him. The hot sticky spray of misted blood that had splattered across him when Tom had thrown himself between them. The sound his body had made when it hit the stone floor.

He’d rushed after him in the desperate hope that he would magically be alright despite how bad it had looked. That the Claymore that had constantly made it a point to make his contempt for him being around clear yet for some reason had taken so much damage to protect him wouldn’t either be dead or dying on the floor. And the monster had allowed him to pass by it, laughing at his clear panic and concern.

He wasn’t sure whether it was seeing the light dim from the pale man’s eyes, each time taking longer to return as a weaker shadow than what it had been before, or what the monster had said as it plodded up behind them that ultimately set him off.

_“No need to cry, little boy. Your Claymore’s hearts still beating, at least for the time being. I’ve never tasted half-breed before, but from how easily my arm went through him he should be fairly easy to finish ‘preparing’.” The blood on its claws had gleamed black in the darkness of the cathedral as it had reached towards him. “And since I’ll be having you for desert, you’ll get the pleasure of watching him die.”_

“Where is Tom?”

“Tom?” for a moment the older man appeared confused. “You mean your companion? He introduced himself to me as Voldemort; I hadn’t realized that he had another name.”

“I’m not certain that he does. I’m not certain about anything regarding him, really, especially not why he’d protect me when he wanted me gone so badly.” He said, looking away. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive, though there’s no way for us to be certain how long that will remain to be the case.” Abeforth told him. “He’s lost a lot of blood and though we’ve bandaged the wound we simply don’t know where to begin to treat a Claymore. Would you like to see him?”

Harry dipped his head in a small nod. “Yes, please.”

He rose unsteadily onto numb legs and was led to another bed; the curtains that had been drawn about it hissed along the bar they hung from as they were pushed aside, revealing Tom lying on his back in the cot on the other side. His entire upper body was concealed beneath bandages, no doubt in an effort to cover the full length of his Stigma from view, and the fabric around the wound in his stomach was stained a wet crimson. His skin looked as if it had been carved from sun-bleached bone, his lips tinged blue and bruised eyelids pearled over. He didn’t seem to be moving and the hand which lay at his side was cold.

Harry hadn’t realized how young he was until then; Tom couldn’t have been older than twenty five. Not even ten years his senior. How long had he been like this? Doing this? Why had he become a Claymore to begin with and what had his life been like before?

Harry sank down into the wooden chair beside the bed without releasing his grip on his hand; the weak pulse fluttering against his wrist was barely detectable.

“What am I going to do?” he could hear the tremble in his own voice. “Is there anything that I can do to help him?”

“There is great power to be found in prayer, Harrison. Perhaps a miracle will occur and your Claymore will recover. If not, it will at least ease his passing and help you come to terms with his loss. Though, from hearing him talk, I hadn’t realized that you were close.”

“We aren’t. But it’s my fault that he’s hurt so badly, and at the moment he’s all I have in the world.” Harry said. “I don’t want to be responsible for his death. I’d thought so badly of him in those last few hours even though I knew that I was nothing but a burden and that he didn’t want me around to begin with, but despite that he still protected me. If I’d just listened to him then he never would have gotten hurt.”

“Now is not the time to mourn. It isn’t over yet.” But the reassurances rang hollow in his ears. “I’ll leave you with him, now. If you find yourself in need of anything just call.”

“Thank you.” The older man nodded and exited the room, leaving Harry alone with the barely living Claymore lying silent on the bed. He squeezed the hand that he was still holding onto as hard as he could in hopes of garnering a reaction but received none. “I’m sorry, Tom. This is all my fault.”


	7. All This Fuss Over a Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally posted the wrong chapter last time whoops. Fixed that now.

“ _You’ve been morose, Tom, for quite a long while. Ever since you killed that Silver Eyed Demon it’s been constant doom and gloom with you. Well…you were doom and gloom before that, but that was when it really got bad.”_ The serpent’s forked tongue flicked against his wrist, the touch of the fleshy prongs soft and cold as they tasted his skin. “ _I don’t understand you humans. Always miserable about something. Always flittering about in pursuit of something unimportant in the long run or cowering at night like mice in a hole. Even Magicals like you. And I don’t see why you bother being afraid when it’s so clear that you’re stronger.”_

The black haired boy’s dark eyes rested like a morose weight against the serpent’s scales. “ _What makes you think that I’m stronger than the Silver Eyed Demons of the Order of the Phoenix? Stronger than the Inferus? I’m only a child with no formal training of how to use my Magic; the Claymore that they sent was low rank, and against more than one extremely hungry Inferus I wouldn’t stand much chance.”_

_“What you did to that half-breed would have made a Voracious One proud, which is only to be expected.”_

He blinked down at her. “ _Why is that to be expected, Nagini? I don’t see any reason for it.”_

 _“Are you not descended directly from the Voracious One that this forth of the land was named for? The Dread Serpent that once lived, long ago, in the Basilisk’s Morass beside which we’re currently sitting? Does his blood not run through your veins? Is it not from him, before the Order remade him, that you received your Magic? Is it not through him that you gained the ability to speak to me now?”_ The viper adjusted her position atop the boy’s lap so that she was more directly in the sun _. “Does that not make you great?”_

_“It makes me better than the Muggles. But it doesn’t make me great. There’s nothing great about Salazar Slytherin’s blood with how diluted it’s become after so many generations. If there was anything great about it than Mother wouldn’t have been subject to the disgusting weakness of death!”_

_“Salazar Slytherin died as well.”_

_“Yes, he did, but it took the Lion of the South and a brutal battle to bring him down! The legends say that the Dread Serpent had to be torn to shreds before he died, and that even after he’d fallen his remains were so toxic that they salted the earth for five hundred years! All that it took for Mother to die was a disease! At three months old she left me to the mercy of a Muggle who she’d had to bewitch because even he wasn’t weak enough to ‘love’. I’m nothing but a monster that he wants dead!”_

_“Humans do not eat their young, Tom. You’re in no danger from your father. And even if he were of a mind to think to harm you he wouldn’t be able to so much as touch you; the Claymore couldn’t and he’s nothing but a man.”_

_“Who do you think called the Claymore here, Nagini?”_

Amber eyes affixed him in a level gaze as the serpent raised her head. “ _You think that your father hired an assassin to murder you? His eight year old son?”_ Her tongue flicked out again, no doubt tasting the mixture of betrayal frustration and fear radiating from the boy whose lap she’d coiled up in. “ _You have proof? Have you seen it in his thoughts, Hatchling?”_

Tom shook his head, dark curls spilling over into his eyes and hiding his face from view. “ _He hates me; I’ve seen him three times in my life and none of them were recently. I was left to the servants to raise, and with the way they treat me you’d think I was an Inferi myself. I haven’t had the chance to check his thoughts but it must have been him. The Riddle Family is the only single Line in twenty miles rich enough to afford the Order’s retainment fee, and even if it was the idea of one of the ‘help’ it would have had to go through him. He’s probably already sent for another Claymore to take the place of the one that I killed. A higher ranked one that I wouldn’t be able to defend myself against_.” He pulled his knees up abruptly. The snake let out a disgruntled hiss as she was flung against his chest. “ _I’m scared, Nagini. I don’t want to die. **I don’t want to die!** ”_

 _“You won’t die, Tom, if you act now. Listen to me, Hatchling, and do as I tell you.”_ The viper slithered off of his lap and onto the rock that he was sitting on. “ _Go back to your den-house and find your Father. Rip the truth from his mind of who your enemies are and how long you have. Gather supplies and then return to me. We shall leave and travel and will find someone Magical in another town to take you in and train you.”_

Nervous but aware that he likely didn’t have any other choice but to do as she said if he wanted to live Tom nodded and got to his feet. “ _I’ll be back soon. I don’t have very much of value so it won’t take long to gather what I need to keep with me.”_

 _“I’ll wait here for you, Hatchling.”_ She said. _“Hurry back.”_

He hurried over the flat marshy ground near the start of the morass on the Eastern side of Little Hangleton and rushed over the shield of the hill behind which his Father’s manor sat. There was an odd feeling of trepidation within the manor’s halls but that only gave Tom minor pause before he rushed up the stairs in search of his Father.

He found the man in his study, but he wasn’t alone. Another man that Tom had never seen before was with him, his face surrounded by a mane of auburn hair, and they were counting out a bag of gleaming galleons which had been set on the desk between them.

What had his Father sold that was so valuable?

Pale blue eyes fell on him as the auburn man turned his head, their unnatural twinkle making him extremely nervous. “This is him?”

“Yes, that’s him.” A cold grey gaze landed on him. Before Tom could seize the chance to rip the secrets of what the man had done out of his mind his next words distracted him. “He’s yours, now. At this point, what the Order of the Phoenix does with him is of none of my concern.”

His father had sold him? Had sold him to the Order of the Phoenix? Why? Why would the Order want him, a Magical? They hadn’t used them to create their half-breeds for centuries. Had rules against it now, so people said. So what did they want with him?

Surely they wouldn’t pay, especially so much, just to use him as a target for their warriors as vengeance for having killed one of them?

The auburn man moved towards him around the desk, another grabbing him from behind before he could run and lifting him, kicking and screaming, off of the ground. His magic flared angrily, whipping about and shattering the small trinkets scatted atop his Father’s desk but before it could target either the auburn man or the blonde that had grabbed him a metal collar was slipped around his neck. It fitted itself around his throat and cut off his ability to breathe.

Tom choked, scrabbling at his neck in a futile effort to free himself. His fingers searching for a seam that wasn’t there. Tugging at metal that refused to give way.

Black spots were starting to appear on the edges of his vision.

“All you have to do to be able to breathe again is pull back your magic.” The man that held him had a thick accent he didn’t recognize. “It won’t kill you if you don’t, we invested far too much money to have you die now, but it will keep squeezing until you pass out if you decide to keep resisting.”

He’d begun to wretch, now. Blinded by the tears of pain and fear which were coursing down his face. Nails breaking and cutting into his fingertips as he still tried in vain to pull the collar that the men had put on him off. His magic had begun to flag as he weakened, the black spots growing larger with every passing moment.

In desperation Tom did the only thing that he could think of that might stand the slightest chance of helping him. “Father!” He croaked around the choking pressure, struggling to focus on the man through his collapsing vision. “Father, please! Help me!”

He was met with a pitiless glare, the overflowing bag of gold held in the older man’s large hands. “You are no son of mine. You’re nothing but a monster, and they have far more use for you than I ever will.”

Unable to get enough air, his head feeling as if it were caught in a vice and his chest burning like a brand, the darkness folded in around him and he fell limp in his captor’s arms.

ᚦ

Tom Riddle regained consciousness in a moving cage, the ox drawn cart around which bars had been erected trundling left and right as it made its way up along a precariously sloping path. The air growing thinner and colder they higher up they went. How long had he been unconscious? There was no way for him to be certain but it had to have been at least a few days as it was clear from the temperatures he was feeling that he was no longer in Slytherin Province. The land of his birth. The only place he’d ever known.

He was in the custody of the Order of the Phoenix, having been sold to them by his own father. His own father who had doubtlessly first hired the Claymore he’d killed to put him down. They were going to use him for something, though for what he didn’t know. Didn’t want to know.

He was scared. A combination of fear, hunger and cold making it difficult to lift himself up onto his knees. His eyes were red puffy and sore. The collar was still tight around his neck, the flesh around it bruised and tender. It was blindingly bright outside the moving prison, the virgin snow near the peak of the mountain reflecting the sunlight which beat down through the thin cloudless air.

Ahead of the cart he was held captive in was a low lying building and outside of it was a small group of black clad men. Watching the cart as it moved closer like wolves waiting to be fed. Fear solidified in his stomach like a block of ice, the inability to use his magic leaving him vulnerable to even a Muggle.

He didn’t know what they wanted with him and the closer they got the more clearly he could see the men and what they had with them.

He didn’t like what he saw one bit. Didn’t like the implications of the rusted metal table and the syringe the man in the front held in his hand at all. When the cart ground to a halt he pressed himself as close against the far corner of the moving prison as he could in a last effort to prevent whatever it was that they had it in their heads to do.

A last effort that failed as the men opened the cart that he was trapped in and climbed in with him. Seized him in brutal hands. Drove the massive needle into the crook of his neck just below the collar, the pain of it making Tom yelp and writhe before whatever they’d injected him with took affect and all ability for independent movement fled.

A paralytic. Not a sedative, a _paralytic_! He was still fully awake, fully aware, could still feel everything that was happening around him, but couldn’t move to stop it. Couldn’t even make a sound. The only thing not frozen into place were his eyes.

They lifted him by the arms, dragging them back so far that they almost came free of his shoulders, and hauled him out of the ox-drawn cart before tossing him down onto the table like a fresh cut of meat down onto a butcher’s block. The rusted metal let out a loud popping sound as he collided with it and pain shot up his spine.

The glint of a blade caught his eye and Tom’s eyes flicked left in time to see one of the men drawing a knife from his belt. He used it to cut his clothes at the seams and pull them free, exposing him to the brutally cold air. If he’d still been able to whimper, he would have. The thin sheet they draped across his pelvis did little to defend him from the mountain’s icy teeth but offered some respite from the unfamiliar eyes and for that the paralyzed boy was grateful.

Terror strangled his heart with icy vines as the men began to push the metal table into the building. The passage they entered was dark and carved clear into the face of the mountain, the ceiling hung low and the floor slanted downwards at a sharp angle. Torches guttered in brackets on the walls every few meters.

His pulse hammered in his throat and against his temples, his eyes darting left and right as they continued moving deeper into the building’s maw. The chamber that he was wheeled into was dark and damp, the sound of water dripping almost deafening in volume. More metal tables were scattered about at intervals, the misshapen bodies of Inferi lying limp atop them, and metal canisters drooling violet fluid had been arranged in demented patterns throughout the room.

The clatter of falling equipment drew his eyes to the beast of a man in a blood splattered smock plodding towards where he lay helpless on the table, a massive knife clutched in one fist.

“This him?” the flat of the blade was cold as it came to rest against the hollow of his throat, rattling softly as it was slowly dragged down the length of his body. The promise of the knife alone, even without the kiss of the sharp edge against his skin, was enough to invoke a fear so powerful that he managed to force a squeak through his frozen lips. Yellowed, brick like teeth were put on display as the man smiled. The point of the knife broke the skin over his pubic bone as the blade was raised off him, hot liquid trickling down along the curve of his right hip. “Is this pretty little boy for me?”

“Do you think we’d let a child anywhere near you if he wasn’t slated to be turned into a half-breed?” the man that had stabbed him with the syringe sounded more than a little bit disturbed to be anywhere near the man with the knife. Tom really couldn’t blame him. “Control yourself, McNair. He’s the most important patient you have ever and will ever have. Potentially, the flagship of the realization of the Order’s Magnum Opus lies before you on that table. _Do not_ kill him, ‘by accident’ or otherwise.”

“I won’t apologize for being excited by the sight of blood.” The man dragged his thick fingers through the trickle of red along his hip, the touch _entirely_ too close to where no one should be putting their hands. Had he been able to Tom would have shuddered with disgust. “It looks so pretty. _He_ looks so pretty. Red is such a compliment to the pallor of his skin.”

“Don’t mess up on this own.” The disgust was clear now. “Your failures in the past have been forgiven; this one won’t be.”

With that having been said, Rosier and the two men who had been following him left the Chamber. Abandoning Tom to the mercy of the blood thirsty creep with a knife. His large paw, rough and clammy, ran up his bare stomach and over his chest. Pressing hard against his sternum. Enjoying the pain and fear clear in Tom’s eyes for a moment before the knife was once more brought to the hollow of his throat. Pressed on until the tip broke flesh with a quiet pop.

Heat flared through him, blood forming an adder’s fork as twin trickles of ruby cut their way to either side of his neck.

“Pretty, pretty boy. I’ll be sure to treat you well while you’re with me. Will make you look so very beautiful, covered head to toe in your own blood.” He again dragged his fingers through the blood, then lifted his hand and smeared it on Tom’s face like war paint. The grin grew wider. “You’ll be reborn, today, soaked in your own crimson fluids and you’ll die that way as well. You’ll die with your blood still red, because if you turn out to be as powerful as they expect there’s not the slightest chance you’d ever be allowed to Awaken.”

The knife was pressed in further, the pain and pressure building as the blade slid through his flesh with a sick squish until he was once again blind from tears and the point was scrapping against his spine.

“Say goodbye to your humanity, pretty.” The blade was ripped downwards.

ᚦ

Tom had thought, when he’d first experienced the choking collar, that he’d reached the pinnacle of what pain was. That there was nothing in the world that could hurt more than the constriction of metal around the soft flesh of his throat. That there was nothing more terrifying than not being able to breathe. Nothing more worthy of fear than the reality of the fact that the more his magic tried to save him the more he was hurt.

Then he’d been left at the mercy of McNair.

If the collar had been pain the ‘surgery’ to transform him into a replacement for the warrior he’d killed was agony. He’d been split open down the length of his body, blood spreading in dark cherry waves across his chest and stomach, pooling in the divots between the wings of his hips and cascading down onto the table below him. His rib cage was broken and forced apart and thick fingers were threaded through his organs, foreign flesh shoved into nooks and crannies seemingly at random and gallons of the viscous violet sludge poured into the wound where it burned like acid.

It had been so bad that the paralytic had been overwhelmed and the man had had to hold him down. He’d lost consciousness because of the pain only to have the same horrible burning drag him back aware again. He’d thought that he’d go insane. Thought that he’d die at any moment as the bones along the front of his ribcage had been positioned back into place and the wound was stitched loosely shut; the string only just tight enough to keep his entrails from falling out onto the ground.

But if the surgery had been agony then the aftermath transcended all human capability to explain and understand pain in words. Torturous throes. Absolute despair. The Inferi flesh that had been implanted inside of him was crawling about among his insides like burrowing spiders, the blood eating away at muscle and bone. Worse yet, his core was dissolving. His magic screaming, trapped inside of him and unable to escape as it was cannibalized. Perverted into something else. An abrasive power that was foul and heavy, but just as eager to respond to his whim.

Not that he could think of anything he wanted done at the moment, distracted as he was by the fact that his body-on the smallest level-was currently in the process of tearing itself apart.

The fact that he’d managed to rip free the collar was small consolation. His broken nails scrabbling at the stone floor he lay on and the thin clothes that he wore in a futile effort to relieve the pain that he was in. Blind, as his eyes were currently transitioning into something else. Mute, his vocal chords healing from the tears they’d suffered from all of his screaming.

He’d kill them. The men who did this to him. Who sought to use him. His father. He’d kill them all. He’d have his revenge.

They wouldn’t get away with using him!

ᚦ

The wound had ceased to pain him years ago and he’d slaved away at his training ever since. Had first tried to use the cunning to which he’d been so partial as a human to rise through the ranks of his class but when that had gotten him nowhere he had given himself over to brute force completely. From that point his rise had been as swift as a flame tearing through a forest after a persistent drought, stopping for no one and crushing any who dared to stand in his way. He’d fashioned for himself a new name, built from the letters of his old, and had earned a title that more than befit him and had at length consolidated his plan for revenge.

And now the day for it had come; the final exam. The one hundred members of his class would be whittled down to the forty seven strongest in a massive battle royal and both of their ‘Master’s’ would be there to watch. It had been a perfect plan-he would go along with their little agenda until he secured his place on the top, and then he’d attack the walled in balcony and kill them both-but it had still fallen through.

How? Because while he could handle ninety nine weaker opponents when their attention was divided among just as many targets as his was forty six foes with their sole attention on him was entirely another story.

Pinned down with countless blades pressing into him from all angles, his fear of death too great to allow him much range of movement, all that Tom could do was glare up at the blue-eyed fuck who was so content to smile down at him.

“Your hostility is quite uncalled for, my boy.” Dumbledore said, unperturbed by the Claymore’s ferocious snarl. “Your actions today have been quite unreasonable, though you passed your test with more than flying colors. If you continue this behavior you’ll have to be punished Tom.”

“That is _not_ my name!”

Grindlewald cackled but Dumbledore didn’t react to his outburst at all.

“You could be so much more than even what you are if you would stop resisting the Order. Your purpose as a Claymore is to serve as a sword against monsters; you rob yourself of your full potential by refusing to submit.”

He bared his teeth in response, silver eyes flicking away to the blonde as he circled around to the front and then returning to Dumbledore. Eyes blazing ferocious gold. Hating the weakness of the fear that his instinctual freeze had revealed. They could control him, now, more than they’d been able to before. And the only one at fault for giving them the key was him.

“Save your breath, Albus. Voldemort is a monster, but he’s not a fool. He knows he’s nothing but a tool.”

ᚦ

Tom regained consciousness with a wet cough, the old blood that had clotted in the back of his throat coming up onto the sheets as an off-black sludge tasting strongly of iron. His throat felt red raw after he was done, but at least he could breathe properly again.

Mind hazed and thoughts muddled he slowly pushed himself up against the pillows still too focused on the memories which had finally caught up with him to really spare much mind for his surroundings.

He’d actually thought that he could free himself of the Order’s reigns, once. When he’d been younger. More naive. He’d tried to suppress that reality, that aspect of his past, more than almost any other for the simple reason that realizing how wrong he’d been, how resigned to it all he’d become, felt like realizing how trapped he truly was all over again.

Like realizing, once again, that though he could resist all he wanted it wouldn’t change a thing. That, though he might forever remain unbroken, he would never be free.

It was the sharp throbbing pain in his stomach that finally pulled him back into the present. Tom looked down. His chest was wrapped with bandages, a large scarlet splotch having bloomed across his waist where the Inferi’s arm had pierced his body. The raven menace was unconscious beside him, slumped forward over the edge of the bed with his head pillowed on his arms, snoring softly.

The boy who had so doggedly followed him. The Wizard who seemed to be some form of living magnet for disaster. The child whom he had shielded with his body, whom he’d been nothing but cruel to, whom had cried over him when he’d thought that he would die and was so much like him that Tom sometimes felt when he looked at him that he was looking instead into a broken mirror.

How long he’d been there he hadn’t the slightest clue but it was probably more than long enough to lead to a stiff neck and sore back. There was no reason to leave him to wake up uncomfortable.

Even if the bed was small.

Mindful not to further irritate his injuries or to disturb the sleeping teen Tom secured a firm grip under his arms and dragged him up onto the bed.

His immediate conclusion was _I didn’t think this through_ as what promptly followed the boy ending up in the bed with him was a very long and drawn out attempt at avoiding the very situation that ultimately ended up happening. Tom lay on his back on the bed with the little raven half draped across him.

The little pest-because he was definitely still annoying and this did _not_ change anything between them-proceeded to nuzzle closer into his chest before suddenly seeming to realize that mattresses had neither heart beats nor body heat and sitting bolt upright. The Claymore stifled a groan of discomfort as the sudden movement of the bed irritated his still healing wound.

“T-Tom!” He briefly considered correcting him but decided that it wasn’t worth the expenditure of energy. “You’re awake! I was afraid that…they said that they didn’t know how to treat a Claymore and you were hurt so badly that I thought…”

Tom reached over to wipe the moisture gathering at the corner of his eye away with his thumb. “That’s the second time you’ve cried over me. Why do you bother?”

He himself had never cried out of any emotion other than pain or fear, and that had all stopped after he’d become a Claymore. And he’d never seen tears of genuine concern before. Tom critically examined the beads of moisture now balanced precariously atop his skin, somewhat disappointed to find them no different in appearance then rain water.

When he brought them to his lips he tasted salt.

“Because it was my fault that you got hurt. It would have been my fault that you died. You were injured protecting me and if I’d listened to you it never would have happened.” He sniffled slightly, red in the face. “You took that strike for me.”

The Claymore made a dismissive huff. “It doesn’t make you special, if that’s what you think.”

Maybe it was the fact that his voice lacked most of its normal bite, maybe it was because he still had the boy curled atop him like a needy feline, but instead of giving him the usual semi-betrayed glare the menace rolled his watery green eyes and rested his head back on his chest.

Tom should have shoved him off, but he didn’t. Because he wasn’t worth the energy. Definitely not because he still felt cold from all the blood he’d lost, and the warm body on top of his felt good.

The Claymore huffed and dropped his chin into his raven hair, his silver eyes fluttering shut. He’d just spent so long unconscious. He didn’t understand how he could possibly still be tired.

“What is it?” he asked when he heard the boy chuckle softly.

“Nothing.” He said. “Just that you didn’t correct me when I called you ‘Tom’ instead of Voldemort.”

“I’m tempted to yell at you about it now just for bringing it up again, boy. I’m not a fan of the name my mother gave me, but I suppose that I can tolerate you calling me by it for the remainder of our time together.”

His smile pressed against his neck. “I feel privileged.”

“You should. Don’t abuse it.”

“So you’re still going to leave me in a town?”

“That’s what we agreed to, isn’t it? Did you think that that would change, Harry?” the raven didn’t answer. “I won’t be leaving you in Avalon, I’ll be taking you back to Ravenclaw Province with me. There’s a small town called Foxwick there; it’s somewhat out of my way and a bit isolated but it’s far enough away from your old life that you’ll be able to start over and be happy there.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Tom.”

He didn’t sound grateful to have the prospect of leaving concretely set before him. Tom didn’t comment on the fact and they sat in silence for a while longer.

Tom heard the footsteps before the door of the infirmary opened and was met with the sight of a nervous looking nun who paled to white when she caught his stare. “O-Oh, you’re awake. Can I get you anything?”

He nudged the raven gently until he raised his head with a discontented grumble to look at him. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

They wouldn’t be requiring any sort of food, then. “Sewing needles, a knife, a length of heavy twine-the strongest that you can find-and enough whiskey to soak it in.”

The woman didn’t question him about his odd request and returned fifteen minutes later with a tray full of what he’d asked for.

“Anything else?”

“Privacy.”

She left shortly after the clipped command was given. Harry had sat up, now, and was watching in curious confusion as Tom picked up the knife and began to cut away his bandages. Once the cloth was free he examined the extent of his injuries and hissed; the wound was still raw and wet and would be slow to close, and worse yet-as he’s suspected-he’d need to be restrung.

“Harrison.” The raven reluctantly peered through his fingers at him, looking somewhat grey in the face. “You said that you can sew?”

“I…yes. Why?” Understanding dawned a moment later and his green eyes bulged. “Y-You want me to-?” Now he looked positively faint.

“Assistance is preferable, but if you’re unable or unwilling I’m perfectly capable of preforming a workable fix on myself which should last until I can receive proper repairs at Grimmauld.” He hadn’t expected the boy to agree, so when shaking hands reached for the knife still in his grip he was more than a little taken by surprise.

“I-I can…just…it isn’t going to hurt you, is it?”

Tom shook his head with a sigh and lay back against the bed. “Shoving something into my Stigma would hurt me, yes, but all feeling in the skin surrounding the stitching was lost a long time ago. You’re not going to hurt me.”

“If you’re sure about that. Do I…cut out the old string first?”

He nodded and shut his eyes, settling in to endure the long process of repairs by a child who hadn’t the slightest clue what he was doing.

For a while the only sounds in the room were those of a blade cutting through old string and fibers being pulled through skin as the unhealing wound eased back into its natural gaping state, his only discomfort the unnatural sensation of entrails exposed to open air.

The knife clattered against the tray as it was set down. The liquor sloshed about as Harry fished the thread free of the decanter it had been soaked in and tied it to the needle.

Thankfully the raven had the wherewithal to start at one end of the wound instead of in the middle. His touch was gentle and involved far less vicious tugging than he was used to. It almost seemed to involve three times as many instances of the needle passing through skin as well.

“Alright.” Harry gently tied off the string and freed the needle, running the tips of his fingers passed up his body, but he could sense the soft intention behind it and that alone was enough to make his body shudder. He looked down and his eyes widened in surprise.

In the place of the horrific, sloppily pulled shut gash was a neat and tightly sealed stitch which appeared to have been done by a doctor rather than by the depraved butcher working in the Order’s employ.

Tom was more than a little bit impressed with his handiwork.

“I figured that it would be helpful to stitch it up a bit better; that no one bothered before because…they maybe didn’t care.”

He had no idea.

“It looks better now.”

It must have, if he could bear to lay eyes on his front now without turning green or hiding his face in his hands.

“The stitching isn’t too tight, is it?”

“No.” Tom ran his own fingers down along the seam, feeling smooth skin and rough fibers sliding by beneath his fingertips without any knots or breaks. “It isn’t too tight at all. In fact…you’ve done well, Harry.”

The raven beamed at him for a moment before his expression shifted into something impish. “You’re not feeling it, are you?”

“Feeling what?”

“Drunk.” He clarified. “The whiskey that string was disinfected with must be seeping right into your bloodstream. How many fingers am I holding up? Can you say the alphabet backwards, Tom?”

The Claymore rolled his eyes, reaching out to bury his fingers in the wild raven hair. “I’ll have you know that I am perfectly sober. You, however, should be getting back to sleep.” He said. “We’ll be leaving in the morning.”


	8. Two Sides of a Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally posted this one instead of six last week. Between that fact and the fact that I'm stressed out and have nothing better to do I'm posting this early.

“Somehow, I get the feeling that they’re glad to see the back of us.” The raven scrubbed at his green eyes with the back of his hand in a failed effort to wipe away the clinging talons of sleep. “Don’t you think, Tom? Or am I just imagining things?”

“The town or village that I’m called to is always glad to see the back of me. But that’s the life of a living weapon; we’re used when we’re needed and otherwise despised. And feared.”

“Like doctors?”

That comment had the desired effect of dragging a reluctant, barely noticeable smile onto his thin lips. “Yes, sort of like that. Though I doubt that anyone is truly ‘afraid’ of doctors the way that they are of my kind.”

“ _I’m_ ‘truly afraid’ of them.”

“And we’ve already established, Harrison, that you’re far from a shining example of what is ‘normal’.”

The raven stuck his tongue out at him but didn’t otherwise reply. Tom pulled his ruined uniform back over his head and secured the black collar into place.

“It’s even more pronounced, here, that they want us gone. Which, given their laws regarding the ‘unnatural’ and ‘inhuman’, is far from surprising.” The latch of his spaulders clattered as they were secured back into place. “Luckily I’ve managed to convince them to allow us time to resupply. Do you have at least a mental list of what you’d want and need; it will take about five days to reach the Eastern Province of Ravenclaw from here, going at your pace, and another two to reach Foxwick in the lower mountains.”

“Well, I could probably do with some spices. Especially if you plan on eating tonight; I know that you don’t need all of that much but, to me, that seems like all the more reason to be picky right?”

It was a sensible enough assumption, he supposed, that in needing to eat very little one would take pains to only eat what they most desired to. The reality, though, was quite different in that a Claymore, especially while traveling from assignment to assignment, ate what they happened to come across on the uncommon occasion that they became hungry.

The menace was staring at him with wide green eyes, no doubt hoping that he’d agree with him, and for some reason Tom found that he didn’t want to be responsible for crushing it.

Without thinking much of his actions he once more buried his fingers in the wild raven hair. “Right.” The smile that shattered across his face was so bright it hurt to look at and left Tom feeling strangely dizzy. Of course that could have simply been a side effect of an empty stomach. “It’s been a while since I’ve had anything to eat. I suppose it wouldn’t be damaging to dine with you when we make camp tonight.”

“What would you like me to make? We’ll be using a fire, like usual, so it’ll be a little difficult to cook any sides with the meat but there’s still a lot of different options for what we could have. And the spices I’d need to get would all depend on the meat that we decide on, so…” Harry seemed absolutely thrilled by the mere prospect of having his hand resting in his hair, not seeming to be aware of the fact that he was leaning heavily into his touch, and Tom was left with an uncharacteristic hesitance to pull away.

“Let’s wait to decide on that until we get a chance to look at what Avalon’s market has to offer, shall we? It’s a much better course of action than risking disappointment at the hands of a choice they don’t have.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He seemed rather disappointed that their conversation about cooking was to be cut so short. “We can still throw around ideas though, can’t we?”

“Don’t get too carried away; we’ll have neither the time nor the resources to make something fancy.”

“I _know_ that!” Tom pulled on his metal bracers and stood up, only half listening. “You seem to take me for a lot dumber than I actually am and, I’ll be honest, it’s a little bit offensive.”

“Maybe I’ll take you for intelligent, or even just average, if you prove that you deserve to be thought of that way. Thinking before acting would be a good start; we’d both end up hurt a lot less if you did.” Catching the expression which flitted across his face Tom sighed. “Don’t, Harrison. I didn’t mean for you to take it that way. What happened in the cathedral was as much my fault as yours. I don’t blame you for it.” When the raven still refused to meet his eyes he reached out and gently grabbed his chin to force his gaze upwards. “I’m a Claymore. Protecting the innocent from monsters is my purpose for existing. A bloody death is the inevitable end of my road. Even if I had fallen to that wound it would not have been on you, but rather on the Inferi that dealt it and my ‘Masters’ for sending me in. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded, but still looked miserable. Deciding that he much rather preferred the animated excitement of before, Tom frowned.

“You may resume your inane prattle about the culinary arts if it will pull you out of this…depression.”

Harry made a sound halfway between a hysterical chuckle and an indignant snort. “Your ideas of methods to cheer someone up need quite a bit of work, Tom.”

The Claymore rolled his silver eyes and released his chin before turning away. His sword was lying propped against the far wall; he started towards it.

“Since you seem to be in a bit of a better mood than usual, can I ask a question?”

“In my opinion, your level of intelligence leaves you with only a borderline ability to coherently string two words together.”

“ _May_ I ask a question, then?” Tom made an impatient hand gesture which Harry chose to take as a signal to continue. “You know that technique that you used in the forest out by Ballycastle?”

“Yes.”

“Does it have a name?”

Tom sent him a bored look as he picked up his blade and slid it back into place. “No.”

That was the thing which seemed to brighten Harry up; internally, Tom groaned. “Well, in that case, can I name it? I have a great name in mind: Serpent Blade, since it can bend around obstacles like a snake. That sounds cool doesn’t it?” The raven was practically bouncing on his toes. “And that way, if you ever get tired of using the ‘Heartless’ moniker you can be ‘Serpent Blade’ Voldemort instead. I think it has a nice ring to it.”

“Naming the technique and making any effort in coining a new title when the one that I currently have is perfectly fine is nothing more than a childish waste of my time.”

Harry made a rude sound with his mouth before following him out of the room. “Bupkis. You can claim that all you like a refuse to call your technique anything if you want; it’s your technique anyway. But _I_ am going to refer to it as ‘Serpent Blade’ from this point forward.”

“You may refer to it as whatever you want but don’t expect me to buy into your idiocy.”

The raven brat smiled and Tom grit his teeth, annoyed to discover that he wasn’t as annoyed by his companion’s newly minted refusal to take his cold shoulder seriously. He grumbled to himself as Harry half-skipped out ahead of him, both ignoring the members of the Clergy who turned ashen pale at the sight of Tom.

It was mid-morning when they stepped out onto the streets of the Holy City and the air was already well on its way to being hot, reflecting the death throes of the dog days of summer. Heat rose up from the russet cobble stones which lined the rutted road in shimmering waves; Tom turned his face towards the touch of the sun’s rays, feeling the chill of the ward where he’d been lying in recovery creep away.

“Are you feeling alright?”

The Claymore looked over at Harry, who had returned to stand beside him and was now gazing up at Tom in concern. Genuine concern. He didn’t know how to properly react to the obvious worry sparkling in those glittering green eyes.

“I know that you’re a lot stronger than I am but you took a lot of damage, Tom. Lost a lot of blood. Were unconscious for a long time. Are you sure you’re…?” he frowned and shook himself, changing the subject. “You look better, now. The sun and fresh air has given you back a little bit of color.”

“I’ve never had much ‘color’ to begin with; I’m sure that it looked a lot worse than it really was.” His grieves clicked as he started down the street towards Market District. “You still have the bag, don’t you?”

Harry held up the now empty bag which Tom had previously used to smuggle his uniform into the city instead of answering. The Claymore couldn’t help but snort at the wordless cheek.

“Good. We’ll purchase enough supplies to fill it; it should be enough to get us to Foxwick.” The stormy expression returned to his face. “You’ll be happy there, Harrison. You’ll never be happy with me.”

“I think it’s up to me to decide where I’m happy and with whom.” He drawled. “Will you at least come to visit me?”

“No.”

He pouted. “Why not?”

Tom wanted to say “because you damage my image and I find you annoying,” but what came out instead was “because contact with me will only get you hurt.”

The pout turned into a grin and the raven trilled a sing song, “ah, so you _do_ care about me.”

The Claymore didn’t dignify such an assertion with a response.

It had rained at some point the night before and little puddles dotted the road at intervals. Pigeons had gathered about a particularly large one and were now splashing about in it, stubbornly ignorant of the hustle and bustle around them. Harry stopped briefly to peer down at them, somewhat unnerved by the one-eyed glare that he received from the nearest bird.

“Well, they certainly seem to be having a great time.”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s just a great bloody bird party.”

“Bird party?” he repeated, blinking up at the taller man. “What does that mean?” Again the other didn’t answer. Harry scrunched up his nose. “Is that some sort of obscure euphemism that you think I’m not old enough to know about? I’m sixteen, Tom!”

“Not that you look it in any form or fashion.” He said. “More importantly they do say that if you can’t speak of it…”

“I’m plenty able to speak of it!”

“I assume that you’re referring to the night when you turned bright red and choked on your own tongue whilst attempting to offer yourself up to me like some sort of heathen sacrifice?” he was somewhat amused to see that the blush had returned full force. “It’s a euphemism out of Slytherin Province, which just so happens to be the land of my youth and descent. That’s all that you need to know and that is where we will leave this topic of conversation.”

“Really?”

“Instead of complaining about my refusal to be openly lewd I suggest that you focus on the task at hand.” Tom said. “We’ll buy you a traveling cloak as well, while we’re here; the nights are getting to be less than comfortable for a creature as fragile as a human, even in the lower foothills. Let’s head this way.”

They ended up going to a different clothing boutique than they’d bought Harry’s clothing at. The tailor was more than a little bit wary of Tom’s presence and ended up poking the raven more than once; blood beading along the wrist that had been used as an accidental pincushion led to a highly displeased Claymore and a large discount on the cloak.

Dove grey and rain scaled, lined in mink fur and cinched with an antler clasp Harry was quite disappointed that the heat of the day made it impossible to comfortably wear.

Traveling through the market was a bit of an experience; people parted before Tom like the sea before the prophet in one of the stories he had read while sitting vigil by the pale man’s bedside and stared daggers as they passed. Harry glared back until Tom gently flicked him on the forehead.

He used the term ‘gently’ loosely; a large bruise would be certain to bloom where the blow had landed soon, he felt sure.

“Focus, Harrison. We only have so much time to get supplies before the city Guard will throw us out.” Tom said. “Produce stalls are-.”

“No! We need to look at the meat that they have on offer before we look at anything else; certain produce and spices taste good with some things and terrible with others.”

Tom grunted noncommittally and allowed himself to be towed towards the butcher’s stall. The little raven took his time looking over the selections on offer before catching sight of where the Claymore’s mercurial eyes lingered.

“I’ll have the rabbit, please.” The sharp look Tom sent him was ignored as they moved on to the other stalls. By the time their shopping was finished the raven had purchased the necessary dried rations along with two lemons, a few sprigs each of rosemary and basil, two pears-one chosen specifically for its small size-a pair of vanilla beans and a small package of sugar.

Harry knew exactly what he wanted to do for their first shared meal and was looking forward to their making camp for the night. Tom just looked confused. The City Guard advanced on them before he could interrogate him as to the source of the raven’s-in his mind unnecessary-giddiness.

The Guard Captain was a dark skinned man with slanted feline eyes; there was an arrogance about him that reminded the raven of Tom and clearly rubbed the Claymore the wrong way.

“Alright, Demon, we’ve been more than hospitable in the wake of your assistance and subsequent injury but it’s time for you to get your tainted hide out of our city.” His gaze fell on Harry and, inexplicably, Tom twitched. “You and your…pet.”

“I,” Harry hissed, taking clear exception to the Guard Captain’s comment, “am _no one’s_ ‘pet’! I was abandoned by my village after an Inferi killed my family and Tom took me in; he’s letting me tag along with him until I can find a place to start over despite the fact that I’m a burden on him. He’s an asinine bell end, don’t misunderstand, but I am _not_ about to sit here and let you talk to him like he’s something less than you! It’s an incredible sacrifice to become a Claymore and-!”

“ _Enough!_ ” Half of the Gurad jumped. Tom’s eyes had turned gold; clearly he’d hit a nerve. “Don’t attempt to make me out to be some righteous, selfless martyr. I didn’t decide to become a Claymore. Didn’t throw myself at the feet of the Order out of some idiotic compulsion to be a hero. I was _sold_ into their slavery by my father who couldn’t bear the stain of a Wizard on the ‘Riddle’ name and saw a sack of galleons as worth more than his only son! Spare me your idealistic drivel.”

Pity was a pale specter against his features; Tom tore his gaze away before the taste of bitter oil could spread like poison across his tongue. “I didn’t know. I thought…I’m sorry.”

He snorted harshly and started towards the City’s open gate, the Guard quickly scrambling aside to let him pass. “What has ‘sorry’ ever changed? Especially when it comes from the lips of those who stand innocent of any crime? My stigma may never heal, my suffering under the yoke of cruel Masters may only have an end in death, but the emotional wounds have scarred over. I lost my heart in the process but that’s a small sacrifice in a life where it would have only made me weak.”

“Why do you act like what you’ve gone through doesn’t affect you? Like you’re not in pain?” The shadow of the portcullis fell over them; their reflections cast back, warped and inverted, by the metal spines that edged the bottom. “It wouldn’t make you weak, Tom.”

“Maybe not in your world, Harrison. But my world is very different. A Human like you would never understand.”

Some of the same stubborn determination which Tom had become so familiar with since first acquiring his unsolicited companion sparked to life in his green eyes. “Then help me to.”

“It isn’t worth the wasted breath.”

Apparently he really did believe that because, no matter how hard Harry tried, Tom refused to answer him. Eventually the raven gave up with a small frown; this reminded him of their previous interactions far too much to be comfortable in his mind.

The sky was turning red with sunset by the time they stopped on the edge of a dark forest of towering ridgepole pines. A fire had been promptly erected by Tom, who now once more sat reclined against his blade. The rabbit, skinned and gutted and rubbed with a mixture of lemon juice rosemary and basil, hung spitted over the fire along with the vanilla and sugar crusted pears.

The smell of the cooking food made the raven’s mouth water and his stomach growl. The Claymore seemed unaffected by it. Harry’s eyes lingered on the hole torn through the fabric of the uniform he wore, ragged edged and stained with blood.

“What’s wrong?” Silver eyes opened and met his, obviously having felt the weight of his gaze.

“Nothing.” He said. “Does there have to be a problem for me to be able to look in your direction?”

The Claymore grunted.

“Are you hungry, Tom?”

“I suppose.”

Harry huffed and reached forward to yank a leg off of the rabbit and pull the smaller pear free of the fire; the caramelized meat sizzled and the fruit, turned gold from heat, dripped with a sticky mix of sugar and juice. He walked around the fire and over to Tom and held out the food. “Here.”

The older man grumbled something and accepted what was handed to him. Harry smirked as he went back to sit down, tucking in to his own food. _I might need to get my hearing checked; I could have sworn I heard a ‘thank you’_.

The raven watched his companion as he tore a strip of meat from another leg; Tom’s bites were almost dainty looking and incredibly small. He set both the leg and the pear aside after only barely denting them.

“Was it bad?”

“I already told you that I don’t eat much.”

“But was it bad?”

It seemed like the next few words were somewhat painful for him to say. “No. Your cooking isn’t bad. I haven’t had food that tastes like this in a long time.”

Harry smiled. “I think that’s the closest thing to a compliment that anyone has ever given me,” he said. “My family would usually either not say anything or would complain about something small and refuse to even let me have the scraps.”

“I’ll make sure that the family you’re left with treats you well.” He said. “You’ll be properly fed clothed and sheltered at the very least; bothersome as you are, I won’t have you suffering needlessly.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Finished with his portion of the rabbit, Harry moved on to his pear. “Could you tell me more about Foxwick? Anything that you happen to know?”

“I’ve been there a few times when I was still in training, though under normal circumstances Claymore pass through only rarely.” He said. “It’s a small town, tucked away in the mid-foothills of Ravenclaw Province with no near neighbors at the far end of this forest we’re now sitting outside of. Snow falls in winter and spring. The summer is balmy. The fall is short but tolerable. Isolated as they are, they look to themselves more than other towns and are less superstitious by far; even with your inability to consciously control your magic you shouldn’t be ostracized.”

“Thank you. I know that I already said that earlier, but…it really means a lot. I always had the dream of getting away and starting a new, better life and-.”

Harry cut off abruptly in surprise when the Claymore stood up, looking off towards the trees as if he’d heard or seen something that his companion hadn’t.

“Go to bed; it’s late and we’ll be moving again in the morning.” He said. “There’s something that I have to take care of; don’t follow me.”

Leaving Harry staring after him in bewilderment and his sword sticking up from the ground Tom walked off into the tree line.

“Still unable to find a ‘suitable human settlement’ to leave him in, I see.” This time Abraxas stood waiting for him at the base of a hollowed out tree, the hole looming dark behind him. “I know that you’re fond of your pet, ‘Heartless’, but we’re both aware of what would happen to the poor boy if you were to bring him back to Grimmauld. Death would be a kinder fate, but it’s fully possible he’d instead be subjected to yours. And if he were to turn out to be as strong as you or stronger we wouldn’t have need for your…defective resistance any longer. You’d be culled.”

“Harrison is too old to be turned into a Claymore. I’ve no reason to fear that outcome.”

“Twelve is-.”

“He’s sixteen.” Tom cut in. “And I already have a place in mind to leave him; Foxwick is a perfectly acceptable town even if I have to go out of my way to reach it before returning to Grimmauld.”

“It isn’t out of your way; it’s the site of your next job. Which reminds me,” the black clad man tossed a small bundle across the clearing at him; it hit the ground with a soft thwack and unrolled. “Strip. It’s come to the attention of the Order that you very nearly lost your life on your last job at the fault of the child you’ve kept with you. I’m going to check the state of your wound before you change into the new uniform.”

Tom sneered but did as he was told, tearing his ruined uniform the rest of the way and standing bare before his handler. Abraxas’ hands were cold and less than gentle as he ran his fingers down the stitching and prodded at the wound which had been reduced to an angry red tear running horizontal across his stomach.

“I take it that it was the boy that you’ve been carrying around with you and not one of the Holy City’s nuns that restrung you in such a…careful manner.” Rough digits slipped into the opening without warning and Tom hissed in pain. “You may well be the current Number One, the strongest warrior that the Order has had in a thousand years, but you need to remember that you have weak spots and vulnerabilities just like everyone else. You are not immortal, Voldemort, no matter what you may believe. As much as you fear death your vanity and arrogance make you reckless.”

“The paternal façade doesn’t suit you, Abraxas. I suggest you drop it.” He pulled the new uniform over his head and turned his back on the other man. “I’m going back to camp, now.”

Abraxas pissing him off and then being left in the woods to fend for himself was beginning to become a pattern, not that Tom cared. As far as he was concerned the man could bugger himself with a pinecone.

Harrison had fallen asleep curled on his side; despite his proximity to the fire his small form was shivering. Tom was halfway to his former place propped against his sword when he turned back with a heavy sigh.

The buckle on the bag of supplies came undone with a soft clatter and, after digging around inside of it for a while he managed to pull out the traveling cloak that he’d been sized for while in the Holy City. Returning to where the raven had curled up Tom carefully draped the thick cloak over him and tucked it in around his body, once more running his fingers through his wild black hair.


	9. Wolves in the Dark

Harry distinctly remembered having fallen asleep the night before curled up beside the fire without anything worn over his body, and that the cloak that he’d woken up draped in had been formerly tucked away inside of the pack that he’d been carrying since they’d left the Holy City. The raven knew that the thing certainly hadn’t crawled out of the pack on its own, and that meant that it had to have been Tom who draped it over him and tucked the sides in around his body, presumably to spare him from the cold.

The raven yawned and stretched, his joints popping in quick successions like arrows being fired from a bow, and sat up. The cloak flopped forward off of his chest and onto his lap, shedding silver crystals about at random as it tumbled.

Harry shivered, his breath rising in front of him as he wrapped his arms around himself and looked around. The fire had gone out hours ago, the ashes wet and cold and all hints of the flames that had once been there were gone. The fallen leaves and sparse smatterings of wild grass growling up around their campsite were covered in a thin quilt of gray-white frost, as was the bag of supplies and the little pouch of dried left over rabbit which sat nearby.

“Eat something.” Tom dropped a refilled water skin on his head as he passed. “We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes. You have everything together?”

The raven nodded, rubbing where the heavy skin had thumped him on the back of the head with one hand and picked it up with the other. “Yes. I made sure that everything was in order before I went to bed last night.” He said, pulling the pack of dried meat over. “I know that I’m slower than you are, Tom, but I don’t want to hold you up any more than is absolutely necessary.”

Lattices of ice had formed across the chilled metal of his spaulders, bracers and grieves leaving them patterned with lacy imprints of snowflakes. Harry thought that it suited the pale man, in both his coloring and his personality; Tom Riddle certainly did remind him of a Winter King.

Gelid attitude and all.

“We’re not going to be stopping before nightfall so make sure that you eat as much as you can stomach.” He told him, running his fingers through his curls. “And put that bloody cloak on, Harrison. I’m not going to drag your arse around if you come down with something.”

“Yes, Tom.” He rummaged through the little bag of rabbit jerky and tucked in. Tom, fully re-suited and with the Claymore hung from his back, stood sentry on the other side of the fire watching him with his opalescent eyes. Harry tried not to let himself become distracted by how they shone like the moon in the near darkness of pre-dawn.

“You slept well?”

The question was so sudden that it made Harry jump. The Claymore’s eyes bore into him, his gaze so sharp and frigid that they dared him not to answer. Yet, despite the prickly exterior the raven could clearly sense the genuine concern-though it was, admittedly, milk mild-hidden underneath.

He smiled. “Yes, thank you. Did you?”

“My sleep is never troubled.”

Harry was starting to think that Tom had never been human and that before being transformed into a Claymore he’d been a golem built from ice and stone. He simply couldn’t understand how anyone could be that stoic otherwise.

“How did whatever you went off to do last night go?”

Tom stared at him distantly for so long that the young Wizard began to think he wouldn’t answer before he finally said. “I was given another assignment by my handler. Apparently there’s an Inferi troubling Fox Wick; I’ll be presenting your adoption into a suitable home as a portion of their owed payment to the Order for the completion of the job.”

“At least they’ll be getting something out of it.” Harry grumbled and stuffed another piece of dried rabbit into his mouth. The idea of wasting food wasn’t one that he had ever been fond of but now the little raven was very much regretting his choice to dry the meat. The spice combination wasn’t anywhere near as pleasant now as it had been while fresh and the meat was now hard and unpleasantly stringy. “Even if you don’t intend to actually make good on the threat do me a favor and at least tell them that you’ll be coming by again to check. Just in case Foxwick isn’t actually as ‘open minded’ as you said it was.”

He wasn’t really worried that Tom would have been wrong, at least not enough to really require the Claymore to go out of his way to do such a thing, it was just…Harry would miss the pale man. Even if he was, even now, not the kindest or the warmest presence the little raven had grown reluctantly and almost unfathomably attached to him.

Looking back on what they’d been through together in the admittedly short time they’d known each other it was understandable, at least on his part. Harry doubted however, that the Claymore felt anything close to the same.

No. Despite saving him yet again, tolerating him curled beside him on the narrow bed in the Holy City and speaking with him in a manner that was considerably more cordial Harry knew that the older man would be relieved, if not pleased, to be free of him.

“What are you thinking about, Harrison, that you’d be making an expression like that?”

He looked up with a start to find Tom staring at him. His gaze was as indecipherable as ever and Harry quickly looked away. “Nothing.”

The grunt the other made left no doubt the fact that he didn’t believe the truth of that statement for even moment.

“Nothing important, at least.”

“Obviously it’s important to you.”

Why was he even bloody asking? Why did it matter? Why did he try; it only made the whole process harder on the both of them.  “I was just thinking. About how I know you’ll be happy to get rid of me.” He lifted the water skin to take a drink, the dripping leather obscuring Tom’s face from view.

“I won’t be unhappy.” There was an odd timbre to his voice, almost as if he was asking a question rather than making a statement. By the time he’d lowered the water skin whatever expression might have passed over the Claymore’s face was gone, the usual frozen mask of indifference back into play. The water was so cold that it sent numb tingles shooting though his throat as he swallowed and took a breath of morning air.

What was with the odd tone and strange wording? Was this, possibly, Tom’s way of admitting that the little raven had grown on him as well?

“You got a replacement for your uniform.” A pitiful segues, but what more could Harry do?

He gulped down more water as Tom sent him a look that was highly unimpressed. “Yes, I was given a replacement and chided like a child. ‘Reminded’ that I was not invincible and that my arrogance is making me ‘reckless’.”

“Your handler was right. At least about the choice to throw yourself between me and that Inferus being a dumb one.” Harry said. “There were probably better ways to handle the situation than giving it the reaction that it wanted.”

“My choice to become a meat shield for you was not a conscious one.” Tom informed him blandly. “And though you’re correct that there were better ways I rather prefer the fact I made it, regardless.”

The fact that any other action would have led to Harry’s death remained unspoken between them. The Claymore stared owlishly at him across the ashen corpse of their fire. The raven drank more water, suddenly feeling like an insect pinned to a collector’s board. He drew his cloak tighter about his small form.

The slight motion seemed to snap Tom out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and he stood up with the quiet click of shifting metal. “Don’t drink any more of that; I don’t want to be slowed down by you needing to relieve yourself every five minutes.” Harry blushed bright red and dropped the skin in surprise; luckily he’d already screwed the lid back on. “Grab the bag. We’re leaving now.”

“Right. H-Hold on, Tom; give me a second!” Grabbing the larger supply bag and hefting it onto his back, Harry picked up the smaller pack of the remaining dried meat and scrambled after the Claymore as he headed towards the nearby tree line.

There was, once again, no talking between them as they traveled but this time Harry couldn’t help but feel that the silence was less awkward and prickly than before. It felt relaxed and, dare he say it, friendly.

Well, maybe ‘friendly’ wasn’t quite the right word but irregardless. Harry yawned and stretched once again, rolling his shoulders and repositioning the pack so that the strap didn’t bite into his flesh quite so harshly.

The sky lightened from grey to peach to pink and finally to light blue as they walked. There were more clouds that day than he’d seen in a while and was of half a mind to be concerned that it would start to rain at some point in the very near future.

The leaves on the trees were still predominately green as it was only really just beginning to transition into Fall from Summer but spots of color could still be seen threaded throughout the area. Gradually the ground beneath his feet became more uneven and rocky, the supple leather of the shoes that Tom had bought for him at Avalon’s market bent around the small scattered stones at odd angles. The tail of his cloak whispered along the forest floor behind him as he went.

The air was still cool but the rise of the sun had warmed it to a temperature that was enjoyable instead of miserable. When the wind blew and caressed Harry’s face it felt more than pleasant. Like the gentle touch of soft invisible fingers. The raven peered down the embankment he stood atop at the sea of green below, the few trees which had already begun to turn color standing out like torches blazing red and orange and yellow against the jade carpet.

“Harry.” He jumped slightly and turned back to the path. Tom had come to a stop a handful of yards ahead of him and was now staring at him expectedly. “We have too far to go for you to get distracted by the views, no matter how aesthetically pleasing they may be. Come on.”

“Sorry.” He turned to make his way back to the path but misjudged the stability of the ground on which he was standing. The lip of the embankment crumbled beneath his foot and he went pitching right and backwards, toppling over the edge.

His fall had been arrested before Harry’s mind could even register that it was happening. He hung suspended from the wrist fifteen feet in the air, the Claymore’s spindly fingers wrapped around his arm and so close to his face that they were nearly nose to nose.

As if he weighed nothing at all the Claymore hauled him upwards and set him on his feet back on solid ground.

“Thanks.” His voice waivered slightly, body quaking as belated adrenaline mixed into his blood. Tom released him and started back down the path that they’d been following all day.

“Be more careful where you’re putting your feet.”

By now the young Wizard knew that, for Tom, that basically translated to ‘you’re welcome’.

He’d been trailing behind the Claymore before that point but now sped his pace to walk beside him. The pale man glanced down at him and rolled his eyes but also reached up and ran his fingers through his raven hair so Harry figured that his presence there would at the very least be tolerated.

ᚦ

It was only evening, the sun having just slipped out of sight below the horizon line, but in this part of the forest the trees grew so tall and thick that it looked like midnight. It was beginning to become difficult for even him to see and from the way that his companion was crashing lead footedly through the undergrowth beside him Tom could tell the boy was tired and, likely, in a fair bit of pain.

Last that he recalled, uneven terrain constant motion and new shoes was not a combination that human feet usually stood up against well.

When he stopped Harry stumbled into him and he had to reach out to prevent the boy from toppling over onto his arse. The green eyes which he’d felt since they’d first met were a bit over expressive were dim, in contrast to their usual liveliness, and betrayed a hollow sort of ache. Doubtlessly for sleep and the chance to get off of his potentially bleeding feet.

It was a wonder that he hadn’t complained.

“We’ll make camp soon, Harrison.” He couldn’t bring himself to speak in a voice much louder than a whisper, his body sensing something that he couldn’t pinpoint yet knew instinctually wasn’t ‘right’ about the area. Threat or not, he didn’t want to stop where they currently were, and if that ultimately meant he’d have to carry his companion than he’d do it. “We just need to-.”

It was more of a flicker of motion that he caught sight of out of the upper corner of his eye than anything concrete, something blacker and more solid than a shadow moving against the night, as the figure pounced down on them from the tree tops. A glint of gold shone in what little light existed as it fell on them.

 _An Inferi?_ With a badly startled Harry bundled against his chest Tom leapt out of the way of the strike, his awareness spreading about him like a net of agitated tendrils yet finding nothing. _How did I not sense it? How can I still detect nothing when it’s right in front of me; even if it’s hiding its Aura there should still be some trace! Unless…_ Tom let his eyes shift from silver to gold for no other benefit than being able to _clearly see_ and immediately his vision snapped into somewhat better focus. The golden glow that he’d caught before hadn’t been the eyes of an Inferi at all, but the handle of a knife. _A bandit? What is he doing this far out in the forest? And where are the others?_

Bandits were never alone. They moved, and attacked, in packs like wolves or wild mangy dogs. If one was seen there was certain to be an entire hoard of them nearby and this situation, as Tom soon realized, was no different.

Harry shouted in alarm and clung to his front as something attempted to pull him from his arms. Tom reacted without thinking, his Claymore howling as it whipped through the air, and the man who had had a hold of the raven reeled back with a pained scream. His blood splattered across Tom’s face and his still twitching hand, severed clean at the wrist, fell to the ground.

 _Mine!_ Was the only thought which thudded through his head, gripping Harry tighter with his free hand and baring teeth that had begun to sharpen into points at the ring of nearly twenty men that had closed in around them. Harry whimpered and pressed himself so tightly against Tom’s chest it were almost as if he were trying to crawl inside, retreating into the folds of his cloak like a frightened turtle into its shell.

“Hiss and spit all you like, half-breed. You’re not going to frighten me.” Tom’s head whipped around towards the calm voice which cut through the wounded man’s cries. The apparent leader of the group wore a Falchion at his hip and had a stocky, heavy build. “Though I have to wonder what one of the Order’s attack dogs is doing all the way out here, in the middle of _our_ forest. And with a brat, no less. Thought your kind were at the very least unfuckable, if not completely sterile.”

The snarl that rumbled through the trees had most of the ring looking ready to bolt. The blood dripped from the sword in his hand with a slow, thick splat.

“B-Boss-.”

“It’s all for show; bark and no bite. Claymore aren’t allowed to kill us humans, you see; if he kills us, they’ll kill him. It’s their most important law, and he’s already crossed a dangerous line by injuring Goyle.” The bandit leader looked almost vindictively amused. “What are you going to do if he bleeds to death, mutt? Hm? What will that pretty little thing you’re so jealously guarding from us do once you’re not able to protect him anymore? You won’t have to find out if you give us whatever money you have on you. It’s a good deal; you ought to take it.”

“I’d watch your confidence, Human. The logic that protects you depends heavily on the presence of witnesses to get the word of my killing you back to the Order. We’re out in the middle of a forest at night and it would take me five minutes to make certain that not a single one of you was left alive to be that witness.” Tom reached around Harry’s back to open the bag, pulling out the sack of coins. “Luckily for you such a thing would not be a sight for a child to have to see.” The coins scattered across the forest floor like gleaming stones as the purse hit the ground. “Now let me through, you cretins. You contaminate my eyes with your mere presence!”

“Rather rich for a monster to say.” The bandit leader sneered before motioning to some of his men. “Let it, and its companion, through.”

The bandits seemed all too pleased to make an opening through which Tom could pass. He bent and lifted the still terrified raven into his arms, and as he did so heard a voice rasp “you’ll pay for this, half-breed!”

Cold silver eyes landed on the insect that had dared to attempt to take what didn’t belong to him; never had the prospect of ripping off a human’s head seemed as incredibly appealing as it did now. “I doubt that.”

Through with dealing with the animals, Tom turned his back on them and walked away, leering at them men who had cleared his path as he passed.

Harry was shaking, his arms wrapped around Tom’s neck in a grip that was strong enough to cut off the blood supply of a normal human. The grip of his legs around his hips made the closing wound on his stomach to twinge painfully. A bit of blood, Tom noticed, was drying in his wild hair. Their chests were pressed so close together that he could both hear and feel his racing heartbeat.

He gently loosened the iron vice of his thighs around his waist to relieve the pressure on his injury, supporting the raven’s weight with his hands. When they finally stopped to camp Tom wasn’t permitted by his clinging companion to seek the wood necessary to build a fire and so he simply sat back against his weapon in the dark with the younger male at his side; Harry had released his grip around his neck only to wrap his arms around his waist instead and rest his head in the Claymore’s lap to sleep.

On account of what had just happened, Tom let him.


	10. That's the Problem with Laws

Tom didn’t sleep much that night, kept too on edge by the scent of human blood that he could smell coming from the trees around them the foul hints of nascent infection beginning to set in around the early hours of the morning. The Claymore knew that the man who’s hand he’d taken was lurking somewhere nearby, prowling about like an animal off in the dark, and could barely bring himself to close his eyes for longer than five minutes at a time.

Between the cold of the late hours and his ever mounting paranoia that the bandit bastard would pop out of a bush without warning and drag the sleeping boy away Tom hadn’t been able to even relax at all until he eventually resorted to gathering the boy into his lap.

Needless to say, Harry was considerably confused when he woke up and found himself bundled against the Claymore’s chest.

“Um, T-Tom…?” he blinked up at him with bleary green eyes over the rumpled form of the cloak he wore over his clothing. “Did something happen again last night? After I fell asleep?”

From both the uptick in the pitch of his voice and the stiffening of his body Tom could sense that the raven was on the cusp of panic. He dropped his face into Harry’s wild black hair and tightened his grip just slightly. Not enough to risk breaking any of his bones but enough, hopefully, to offer at least some comfort.

“No. Nothing else happened.” Tom lied smoothly, his gaze level as he met the raven’s stare. He didn’t need to know that they were be stalked by the same wounded man that had sworn just the night before to make Tom ‘pay’. The last thing he needed to deal with was having Harry panic. “You were a bit too frightened last night to let me get the wood for a fire and I couldn’t just let you freeze to death. This was the only tenable solution. Don’t read too far into it.”

He couldn’t quite tell if the raven believed him or not, what with the fact that Harry buried his face in his chest before Tom could get a good look into his eyes. The shivering that he was doing could just as easily been from fear or cold, so that wasn’t a good signifier either. Annoyed by his own inability to work out the infuriating puzzle that the raven seemed to take a heedless joy in being and about as willing to release the wizard as the wizard was to release him, he dropped his chin back into the raven mop and let his eyes flutter closed. Breathing in his scent and feeling his instincts calm, though his Inferus half remained agitated.

The bandit could lurk about all that he wanted. If he showed his worthless hide again Tom would see to it that he lost far more than just a hand. Because it wasn’t a violation of the Order’s laws if no one was left alive to report the matter as a witness. And out here in the forest it was easy to find yourself suffering at the barbed end of a…terrible accident.

Like tripping and falling on your own knife a couple hundred times. Or being attacked by…a bear. Or something.

Tom didn’t want to have to move, but he’d already let Harry sleep in later than he usually would have on account of the trauma and his own inability to find meaningful sleep. It was already almost noon, and it was a certainty that they’d be spending at least one more night out in the forest.

Their last night together. And for it, they’d have an intruder.

His Inferus snarled and flexed its claws. All Tom did was gently rap his knuckles against the raven’s forehead, prompting him to look up at him again with fear-dazed green eyes.  The Claymore carded long fingers through his hair, the younger male leaning into the scrap of blunted nails along his scalp.

“We need to get moving, Harrison.” He said, nudging the raven gently in an effort to coax him out of his lap. “The day has aged enough as it is.”

It was only with great reluctance that the younger boy allowed himself to be budged, though he remained all but standing on top of Tom after doing so, staring suspiciously out into the surrounding brush.

Huffing in a vague sort of annoyance, he got to his own feet and stretched before pulling his blade from the ground. “See something?” Tom tried to keep his tone neutral in an effort to not give away the fact he knew the bastard was out there. That he could sense and smell him even if he couldn’t see him.

“No.” Harry answered after a long moment spent without blinking. “I just…feel like we’re being watched.”

“We’re not.” He lied. “They’re long gone. Got what they wanted and buggered off like the cowards they are.”

“But the one who’s hand you cut off said-.”

 _“He doesn’t have the spine!”_ It came out as a snarled hiss, his eyes flashing gold without his conscious intent. Even the mentioned prospected of harm coming to the boy in front of him enough to set his inner Inferus, already just beneath his skin, roaring like an enraged lion. Harry looked somewhat alarmed by his slip in control, glasses askew on his button nose, and Tom clenched his fists to hide his sharpening nails from sight. “If he does come back I’ll protect you.”

“If I were the one that killed him with my magic, like what happened with the wolves and that Inferus back at the Holy City, would you be the one blamed for it?”

“Probably.” Tom grunted. If not, the Order would be certain to send a warrior after his boy-when had that happened? Last night, probably, and doubtless steaming from the same place the over possessive ‘mine’ had-and he’d have to deal with them. “Better not to risk it. Come on.”

Normally he’d just have started walking but this time he waited for Harry to join him before starting off into the trees. It was a break from pattern and he knew it, Harry seemed to know it too, but neither of them said anything.

The pair continued onwards in silence as the last hour of latening morning transitioned into afternoon and the temperature made a sluggish climb out of ‘cold’ and into the outskirts of what could be considered ‘tolerable’. Even so, the raven was more than grateful for the thick cloak which the Claymore had purchased for him in Avalon. Warm and soft and, after the hours he’d spent curled cat-like in the older man’s lap, smelled vaguely like Tom.

Night and petrichor and the faintest tang of blood from behind the newly closed stitching of his stigma and the healing wound in his stomach. Thick and pungent and not quite human, but not as foul as the blood of an Inferus either.

He’d been warm and sturdy, muscles like iron beneath the thin cloth of the Order’s standard uniform and the cold metal of his livery. The rate of his heartbeat just far enough above resting to make it clear that the Claymore was just as nervous as he was.

Not certain if that knowledge made him more comfortable or less so, Harry kept himself quiet. Falling back into his usual routine of just watching Tom. Watching the subtle shifts of his expression and the way his silver eyes-bright enough to put the moon to shame-roved over their surroundings.

He could tell that something was wrong but didn’t voice his question. Doubting Tom would answer him, or at least answer straight, Harry didn’t ask him what it was.

The dappled sunlight caught in his pale hair, the orderly curls flashing like woven white-gold fleece. What might he have looked like if the Order of the Phoenix hadn’t gotten ahold of him? Harry had trouble imagining the man as anything other than a raven or, perhaps, a very dark brunet. Eyes dark blue or dark brown or maybe even black. He’d been a wizard like him, once, if he’d remembered correctly.

Had been sold to the Order by his own father.

Harry should, he supposed, consider himself lucky that the fact they might make an exception to their ‘no warriors made from wizards’ rule had never managed to occur to anyone in his family. Neither Vernon nor Petunia would have hesitated for a moment, even if he’d only managed to bring a knut in price.

He’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Tom had stopped until his ran into his back. The flat of his blade was cold, like ice, where it briefly pressed into his forehead.

Tom reached back to steady him, the action seemingly more of a reflex than anything he was conscious of. The Claymore’s gaze was directed downwards, toward the bottom of a shallow ravine where a group of six men advanced on a frightened merchant.

“Bandits?”

“No.” Tom told him. “Inferus.”

Between one blink and the next, just as he had happened in Godric’s Hollow, the taller man vanished from his sight. Reappearing at the bottom of the ravine in a showy explosion of violet blood. From the absolute brutality of the actions the Claymore took and the fact the raven knew him well enough by now to be aware that under normal circumstances he’d have just left the poor man to the monster’s mercy Harry was well aware that the only reason Tom was doing any of this was to prove a point.

The aggressiveness of the entire affair fit far better with the message ‘stay away, Look at what I can do to you’ than ‘relax, I can protect you’ so Harry doubted the intended recipient was him.

Clearing the discolored blood from his blade and leaving the merchant scared out of his mind, Tom returned to his former positon beside him. His leap back onto the top of the cliff made at a slow enough speed that the raven caught every motion of it. Everything about the action, from the click of his grieves against the stone to the smug upturn of pale lips, made it obvious that this little bit of showing off _was_ directed at him.

Since when had the Claymore been one to act playful?

“You didn’t strain yourself with all that showing off, did you Tom?”

He received a chuff and a light flick to the forehead in reply. Tom’s blade clicked back into its typical position across his wide shoulders and resumed walking in the direction that they’d been going before.

Rolling his eyes, Harry trotted after him.

 

ᚦ

 

They’d walked until just passed sunset when Tom had finally given up the effort of reaching Foxwick that night for lost. Not too terribly far from a lake, so far as the distant ripple of water in the wind told him, the Claymore had assisted Harry in gathering firewood-not wanting to let him out of his sight, still able to detect the ever more foul stench of infection and blood from their wounded pursuer-and together they’d built a fire.

The boy was asleep now, and Tom had been staring at him for the better part of three hours. Watching the rise and fall of the gentle curve of his back, fighting the urge to curl up next to him. To hold him, make sure he was safe, like he had the night before. Give into the desires of his monstrous half, its suddenly very different hunger and the need to mark the younger male as his.  Display his ownership with scent and the scars from claws and teeth, abandon the Order and hole up with him in some cave somewhere.

Something told him the little wizard brat would react much better to that scenario than he would to being left in Foxwick. But being left in Foxwick was the option which would be better for him in the long run by far and, much to the anger of his hedonistic dark side, Tom knew that.

Sensing their stalker move away the Claymore rose and, after a last prolonged moment of staring, moved off towards the lake. Leaving his weapon behind.

The leaf litter muted the metallic tink of his footsteps. Winter’s fast approach combining with his presence to silence any animals which would otherwise have alleviated the silence of the night. The moonlight spread pale fingers across the still water and stony beach of the lake.

He uncinched his spaulders, letting them fall with a raucus clatter. “Stop skulking around and come out. Your stink is making me nauseous.”

Tom heard the rattling of disturbed rock beneath the bandit’s footsteps. The blood still leaking at a rather alarming rate from the severed stump where his hand had been, wrapped only loosely in a filthy length of cloth now stained red beyond repair.

“Panting like a dog. Stumbling after us through the forest instead of doing what would have been smart and staying behind with your pack of merry idiots.” His bracers joined his spaulders on the ground. “If I have to geuss, I’d say you don’t have very long. Blood loss of infection will get rid of you long before I have to lift a finger.”

The man’s growl was entirely unthreatening. “You’re talking just to make it seem like you aren’t afraid.”

“Afraid? Of you?” An unsteady step forwards. More ragged breathing. “I can have my way with you and there’s nothing you could do about it. Your laws wouldn’t let you.”

Smirking, the Claymore turned back towards the other man and pulled open his uniform. At the sight of the massive wound he pulled up short. “What’s wrong? I thought you were going to ‘have your way with me’.” He drawled. “You were just intending to bugger a monster. Did you expect everything about me to be pretty?”

The bandit stared at him for a while, transfixed by the stigma, then tore his eyes away and said “maybe I’ll go back to your camp and take that pretty little boy instead.”

Tom had the man around the throat before either of them realized what had happened, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “If I ever hear you even insinuate touching him again, _I will end you_!”

“Your laws-.”

He shook him violently then dragged him close, baring razor teeth in his face. “That’s the problem with laws. They only matter as long as one chooses to obey them.” Flinging the bandit to the rocks and deciding he could bathe elsewhere at a later time the Claymore collected his belongings and returned to their camp.

Everything was just as he’d left it; crackling fire, sleeping raven and his blade upright in the dirt. Tom repositioned the weapon so that he was sitting beside the boy, and the night passed with his hand rubbing soothing circles into the small of his back.

 


	11. The Greatest Gift I Could Possibly Give You

“Harrison.” Tom looked back from his position a handful of yards ahead of him, standing at the edge of the embankment the path they were traveling ran alongside, his dove gray cloak rippling in the crisp mountain breeze and silver pauldrons gleaming in the sunlight which spilled from the clear sky above. “Come here.”

Pulling the traveling cloak that he wore closer around himself and aiming another cautious glance at their surroundings, not that he’d find anything as the man had finally stopped following them earlier that morning much to the Claymore’s relief, the little raven sped his pace and trotted up beside him. Half out of a protective instinct and half out of the memory of what had happened the last time Harry had strayed so close to the edge of a similar embankment Tom rested a hand on his shoulder, applying a gentle pressure to prevent the wizard from straying past the point where the stone could be considered stable.

“Look there.” With his other hand he pointed to the village just visible on the horizon, a handful of miles away through the thick trees. “That’s Foxwick. Where I have my next job and where we’ll be parting ways.”

“We’ll be reaching it today?”

“By late afternoon, only a handful of hours more.” The Claymore confirmed. The little raven looked away from the village with a noise of disgust and Tom couldn’t contain a brief smile; as much as he disliked the thought of parting with the boy it was a relief, in some small way, to know that Harrison was as eager as he was to leave each other’s company. And to think that, once upon a not too distant time, he’d viewed all thoughts of companion ship with nothing but distain. If anything, he wished that he’d warmed to the raven sooner. Of course, if that were the case, leaving him behind would only have been harder. “We still have a bit of time left together, sparkling. Are you going to waste it pouting?”

The little Wizard looked even more attractive when the apples of his cheeks were painted with that exquisite shade of red. His Inferus half jumped on that thought and sank its claws and teeth into it as deep as it would go, urging him to take the boy and head away into the mountains in the opposite direction. Away from the village below them. Away from the Order. Again, he pushed it away.

His resolve was beginning to break down, but it would hold for long enough for him to leave the little raven safely to a better life than he could ever have found with him. And whatever pain he ultimately went through because of it, as long as he knew that Harrison was better for it everything would be worth it.

“Since when have you called me ‘Sparkling’?” He settled for asking, crossing his arms and turning his back to him. Grinning, Tom moved from where he stood beside the crumbling ledge to instead circle in front of him and get a better look at the blush adorning his face. “And why?”

“Why?” the Claymore repeated, aware a mild simper had begun to creep into his voice but not truly caring. “How many things have you less than intentionally lit on fire, Harry?”

“…”

“And I think that ‘Sparkling’ is a nickname which suits you very well.” Aware that the blush had darkened in intensity and begun to creep down his neck Tom went in for the kill, a grin unfurling across his face which showed over-sharp canines. “Small, fiery, unexpectedly capable of a level of damage which shouldn’t be sneezed at and…hot.”

“Stop it!” He aimed a less than affective shove in the taller man’s direction. His hands collided with solid muscle, leaving Tom entirely unaffected, and ended up almost being pushed over by the rebounding force. “We’re going to be parting ways in a handful of hours. Will never see each other again. So why are you doing this to me now, Tom? Or are you just that cruel?”

“I am that cruel, but not to you.” He’d moved passed him and started down the path again before Harry could quite be sure but the raven could have sworn he saw a flash of…something in those silver eyes. “I wish we could have met differently. That I was still human, or that I could somehow go back to being so for you. That I could offer you more than an unhappy life on the road full of blood and could be with you without risking…but that’s not possible. This is better for you, Harrison, but it’s hard for me too.”

 _You don’t have to be human for me._ Not wanting to be left behind and squander what little time he had left with the other man Harry sped his pace enough to catch up with Tom’s measured stride. _You just have to stay._

But he said nothing on the matter because he knew it wouldn’t make a difference and, also, that it was selfish on a number of levels. Above all else he was a weakness for Tom, what had happened in the cathedral in the Holy City of Avalon had proven that, and if he stuck around it was only a matter of time before he got the Claymore killed. He didn’t want to be responsible for that.

Still, the prospect of him abandoning him in Foxwick no matter how happy he might be or how much better his life would ultimately turn out, of never even having the chance of seeing him again or knowing if he was alive or dead or something else, hurt.

Tom didn’t comment on the matter when he caught up to him and tugged on his hand. Instead, he ran his fingers through his wild black hair and rested his hand on his shoulder and allowed the wizard to spend the remainder of their walk leaned into his side.

Foxwick was truly a small village, tucked away in that forgotten alpine valley and sheltered from the rest of the world. Tranquil. Quiet. The sort of place where nothing bad happened. Where often nothing happened at all. To anyone else it would have seemed quaint and welcoming with its rusting wooden houses well-tended cobbled streets. To Harry it looked like hell and as they crossed the bridge which spanned the width of the rushing river-all frigid run-off of melted snow from the peaks above-their footsteps thudding beneath them he couldn’t keep a frown off of his face.

He hoped that the Inferus would be competent enough to keep itself hidden for at least another night, that he’d still have a couple hours reprieve before Tom walked out of his life forever, or that the Claymore would purposefully take a longer time than necessary to perform the job that he’d been assigned out of a similar desire to keep their parting at bay a little bit longer, but was well aware that both those things were unrealistic.

As had happened at Godric’s Hollow Tom headed immediately for the home of the village’s Chief, only this time he didn’t slam the door in Harry’s face when he made an effort to follow him. The man’s reaction was much the same as those of the others he’d seen in the presence of the Claymore and leapt to his feet immediately.

“O-Oh, you’re here! We hadn’t been expecting you until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”

“We ran into some trouble with bandits and I felt the need to travel faster than I would have had I not had my companion’s safety to concern myself with.” Tom said. “Tell me, how many Inferus are there present in this town at the current time?”

“Well, we can’t be entirely certain but with the rate of killings we think there’s only two.” The man said. “The payment is-.”

“Receiving payment is not a part of my responsibilities. A strange man in black will come by when I am finished here, give it to him.” He said, then looked down at Harry. “However, I do have a favor to ask for.”

The way his voice had softened seemed to bleed the man of a margin of his discomfort and he straightened from his slightly hunched position. “Anything.” He said. “You’re saving us from monsters. If there’s anything that you need us to do, please say so.”

“I need you to find someone in this village that my companion can stay with.” Tom said, a reluctant edge plain in his voice. “He’s an orphan and has traveled with me for quite a while and…we’ve grown close but I can’t in good conscious keep him with me. But leaving him at any suitable town isn’t a tenable solution as he’s a Wizard. I’ve heard things about this town. That you’re more…accepting than most are. So if you could please…”

“An orphan?” There was a measure of pity audible in his voice; when the man looked at him Harry couldn’t bring himself to meet his eye. “What you’ve heard is correct, Claymore, we don’t care here at Foxwick if someone’s a Wizard or not as long as they’re able to contribute something to the town. Life’s hard up here, this high in the mountains, especially during winter, and we don’t exactly have any neighbors around if we find ourselves in need of help. If he needs a home, my wife and I will be glad to take him in; we have a daughter about his age.”

“Thank you.” Despite the evident reluctance which tinged his tone, he sounded like he meant it. “I’ll begin looking for the Inferus immediately and should be gone by evening. Harrison, I…assume you’d be adverse to me leaving you here.”

“’Adverse’ is rather mild.” The raven said tartly. “There’s only two of them and you’re not on suppressants so I should be fine, shouldn’t I? There’s no reason for me not to come. So I’m coming.”

All Tom did was nod and, together, they left the house headed back out into the crowded streets. A crowded main square. A one steeple church, well-kept and clearly very old. A bustling market full of a colorful assortment of fresh produce and wild game. People observed them with curiosity and a mild shade of apprehension but it was nothing like the typical outright terror with which the residents of every other village had reacted to Tom’s presence. Maybe the place had some redeeming qualities. Maybe in a handful of years, or a handful of decades, it would grow on him and he could be happy there. Or close to it. Harry still hated the prospect of being left there.

“Stay,” followed by the click of the massive blade coming free was all the warning that Harry had before Tom lunged, felling the first monster in a spray of violet blood. People around them screamed and scattered, terrified by the sudden assault, but Tom ignored them. His golden eyes gleaming wolfishly as they darted about before he sprung again with the grace of a mountain lion and took down the second and then a third before ending his assault. It seemed like the Village’s count had been wrong and there’d been one more of the things than had been expected.

Not that it made a difference, in the end, or held him up at all.

Tom flicked the gore from his weapon and calmly re-sheathed it on his back while waiting for the mad scramble to die down, the minced Inferus pieces slowly resuming their monstrous natural appearance, and turned to look down at him again. “Let’s head back to the front of the village.” He said. “Your new family should be waiting for you there and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you out here to _f_ ind your way alone.”

Knowing that refusal wouldn’t keep the other man there longer, the raven gave a reluctant nod and followed him towards the bridge they’d first crossed to get there. Sure enough the man that they’d met with waiting there, along with a sweet looking older woman and a girl about his age. They walked over to them as they approached with smiles on their faces; Harry didn’t return the gesture.

“Thank you, Claymore.” The man said, resting both his hands gently on the wizard’s shoulders. He tried not to flinch and shrug them off; that was something Tom would do and Harry didn’t like the thought of anyone else doing it instead. “We’ll take good care of him. I promise you. You’ll visit him?”

“No.” Tom said, voice leaden. “It’s better that I don’t.” With a final heavy sigh he reached out to ruffle his hair one last time and turned to walk away.

“Tom.” No reaction. “Tom!” He was hallway across the bridge now. “ _Tom!”_

He paused on the far end of the bridge and looked over his shoulder at him, silver meeting green for the briefest of moments, and then the Claymore flashed out of sight. One moment just a handful of paces away and the next, gone. Hundreds of yards into the trees and rushing up the slanted face of a rocky hill.

 _I’m sorry. I wish that I could keep you with me more than you realize but that will only end in death for both of us, and you’ll find a life among your own kind that I never could have provided._ Tom sprang from a small boulder onto an overhanging tree branch and up over a ledge, tearing through the undergrowth due North towards Grimmauld. _Live human. Grow old as a human. Die a human death. This is the greatest gift that I can possibly give you so use it the best you can. Farewell, Harry._

 

ᚦ

It hadn’t been intentional, he’d simply been pushing his food around his plate, but without meaning to Harry had managed to arrange the peas and mashed potatoes into the exact configuration of the symbol Tom had worn around his neck and on his blade. If it hadn’t been for the fact that doing so would have led him to have said mixed vegetables splattered across his face the little raven would probably have acted on the urge to bang his forehead against the table. Getting the Claymore off his mind would be a long time coming, if it ever happened at all, and the journey to that point would be arduous at best.

And to make matters worse his new family seemed to have noticed. His new sister-Hermione, he believed was her name, he hadn’t really been in much of a position mentally to pay too much attention when they’d introduced themselves to him-reached out and rested her hand gently on his arm. “I know that it has to be hard to have him leave you behind but you need to eat, Harry.” She said. “You’re small enough as it is and your Claymore wouldn’t want to see you starve.”

‘His Claymore’ wouldn’t see him doing anything at all as Tom had made it quite clear he’d never be coming back! Maybe it was for the best for both of them, maybe it really was equally as difficult for Tom as it was for him, maybe it would have all fallen apart in the end if they hadn’t parted ways but that didn’t make things any easier. Harry knew that he was acting more than childish but he couldn’t really help himself.

It was unlikely that anyone else would ever understand the relationship that he’d had with Tom because of the monstrous light in which Claymore were viewed, but the truth was that he’d treated him far better than any human ever had despite their less than warm starting point. Had understood him better than anyone probably ever would, likely due to having been a wizard himself. And for all the kindness that the Granger family had shown him thus far Harry doubted he’d ever feel so close to anyone again.

“I have a small stomach,” was his excuse for pushing away his plate and getting up from the table. “Thank you, really, for being willing to take me in. I think I’m just…going to go to bed now.”

Though all three looked concerned for his wellbeing none of them said anything and the little raven was free to shuffle up the stairs and into his new room as he pleased. Much larger than anything he’d had in Godric’s Hollow and equipped with a real bed. Harry flopped down on top of it and curled up with the traveling cloak which Tom had bought him, staring out of the window at the blanket of brilliant stars overhead until he finally drifted off to sleep.

 

ᚦ

 

Tom knew that he couldn’t afford to stop until he’d put enough distance between himself and Harrison that he could be sure he wouldn’t be drawn back for the boy, and as such had avoided making camp for the night and continued onwards after dark. Still, his pace had been slow owing largely to the reluctance which weight him down like leaden balls around his ankles, and he’d barely made it past where they’d stopped that morning to look out over the village. There was more than enough light for him to see clear as day between the moon and the stars, so when an odd sound drew his attention downwards his gaze met unimpeded with a large mounted party rushing up the only road into Foxwick. About to dismiss it as odd and nothing more, his eyes fell on a figure that was far too familiar and made his heart drop into his stomach.

The man only had one hand.

 _No!_ He was off the side of the embankment in the blink of an eye, ramming into the ground fifty feet below in a cloud of dust and rock and bolting through the trees fast enough to outpace the wind breaking both boulder and fallen tree beneath his iron-shod feet. _How could I have been so stupid not to suspect **something** when I ran into a group of bandits that large in the middle of the bloody forest! They were after Foxwick from the start._ Unable to see the group through the forest he coiled down and jumped, clearing the trees for long enough to get a good glimpse at them. Close to fifty mounted men and still far ahead of him; even with his speed he wouldn’t be reaching the village before they did. _Tucked away this deep in the mountains, hundreds of miles from its nearest neighbors, there’d be no one to aide them or even to know if they were under attack! All that was keeping them from doing this before were the Inferus using the village as a hunting ground and I **killed them**!_ Faster! Faster! He needed to go faster! _Harry!_

It couldn’t have even been a full hour before he cleared the trees but it felt like an eternity. The air was choked with thick, black smoke and as he skipped to a stop on the bridge Tom stumbled, horror struck and overwhelmed by the stench of ash and human blood.

Foxwick’s residents were being massacred, the buildings were up in blinding flames, and his Sparkling was stranded somewhere inside.


	12. Conflagration

Smoke. Cinders. Blood. All mixing together into a disgusting slurry of reek which coated his tongue and the back of his throat in a foul layer and made him want to gag as he continued to stand there, rooted to the spot and staring at the horror being played out in front of him. The night sky was thick with so much smoke and soot from the burning buildings that it was as if the moon and the stars had gone out. His vision was overlain in shades of red and amber as the light of the ravenous flames flickered, swarming over the areas the fire had yet to touch but would soon devour with hungry cracks and columns of sparks cast skywards. The once orderly streets had been turned up, scattered with bent bodies and broken cobble stones and swamped in so much blood and gore that it looked as if a downpour of rain were occurring. The river below the wooden bridge had begun to run red.

Inferus were predators, Claymore were mongrels-part of both species but belonging to neither-and the Awakened were malicious and cruel but even the Abyssal Four had never done _this_. It was humans, normal humans, which were the real monsters. Not because they had nightmarish powers. Not because they had terrible twisted forms. Not because they fed on entrails in an effort to fill a hunger which refused to be sated. Because they preyed on their own with a cruelty which nothing else could match, and laughed as they did it.

Some people in Foxwick were still alive. Tom knew because, as he stumbled forward off the bridge and began to trudge through the blood turn he could hear them screaming. Woman, all of them. High pitched and keening as they were forced to witness the men in their families slaughtered or…worse. The mere thought of it made his stomach turn but he wasn’t about to go rushing to their aid. He wasn’t a hero and wasn’t about to become one. He didn’t care about them or what happened to them. All that he cared about was finding his Sparkling and getting the hell out of there before the little Wizard could be hurt. Protect him. Never let him go again. Never.

He was paid no mind by the bandits as they continued their brutal raid; they’d laugh at him as they ran by, spit at him on occasion, but wouldn’t raise their weapons likely not wanting to provoke him to attack them despite the Order’s law they believed was their protection. Their mutt of a leader was ahead of him, still astride his horse; a man holding a fire poker leapt at him from within his burning home and was cut down without mercy by the bandit’s blade. Blood splattered him in a fine mist as the man fell but he ignored it and kept going. Walking towards the house where the family he’d left his Sparkling with had lived and finding it, like all the others, engulfed in flame.

Where was he? Where! He couldn’t be dead. He refused to believe it. He’d know if it were true, somehow. His Inferus would have sensed it, even if his human half could not. Where! Where! There must be some sign. Tom turned his head this way and that, silver eyes darting around the area in a desperate search. There had to be some sign. Some clue. He couldn’t still be in that house, burned to cinders and chips of bone. He couldn’t.

“Harry!” His voice echoed through the crumbling street, distorted by the corpses and the smoke. The fumes which filled the air were beginning to become too much even for him, burning his lungs with their heat and chemical sharpness. He coughed. Squinting. Eyes watering as he continued his desperate search. “Sparkling! Please! Answer me!”

Left. Right. Left again and then he saw it. Crumpled on the street in the midst of a puddle of blood and minced flesh and soot. A sight which filled him with a potent mix of fear and rage that made his chest tight and his Dark Aura whip wildly around him, boring a crater in the ground and blowing over the nearest house. Tom almost lost his grip and Awakened then and there and only the knowledge that he’d be of no help to Harry beyond, perhaps, transforming him into dinner if he gave in to his Inferus kept him from it. Tripping forwards on his iron greaves to where the now ruined traveling cloak lay Tom bent and picked it up with shaking hands.

He couldn’t be far. And that he’d found the cloak outside, and unaccompanied by the little Wizard’s corpse, was encouraging. It had been lying in a puddle of blood from the dead; nothing which stained it, he told himself, belonged to his Sparkling. He’d know if it had. It would have smelled like him. And then there’d have been even greater hell to pay. With any luck, Harry was fine. With any luck, he’d escaped into the forest surrounding the village and was hiding in safety. With any luck-movement in his peripheral vision cut that thought off and Tom’s head whipped around with a predatory hiss.

Standing there, staring at him with wide crazed eyes and with his stump still dripping was the man. The man whose hand he’d lopped off back in the middle of the forest. The man who had been stalking them. Who he’d recognized amidst the pack of bandits. And slumped behind him, either unconscious or dead, was…

“What’s wrong, Claymore? Did you come back because you realized you forgot something?” he drawled, face splitting into a mad grin. “That’s unfortunate because I don’t like to part with my share so I’m afraid that I can’t give him back to you. But you don’t need to worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

Tom snarled, eyes changing from silver to gold to red as his Inferus tried to force itself again to the surface. His aura crackling around him, popping like the exploding cobble stones as his form attempted to shift. His skin suddenly feeling incredibly tight. His bones feeling as if they’d been arranged wrong. Small. Why was he so small? He should be larger than this. His body was wrong! He shouldn’t have legs like this! If he just relaxed his control a bit more he could fix himself and then he’d see to… ** _No! Focus!_**

“You were going to get rid of him anyway, weren’t you? You don’t have any right to him anymore. This pretty piece of meat belongs to me now.”

**_MINE!_ **

The monstrous half of him pulled away and he snapped fully back into himself, a tide of black rage flooding over him like a storm surge of caustic venom and all thought and care of law and consequence went out the window. All that he cared about in that moment was getting his raven away from the man and making him, making all of them, pay for what he’d no doubt been put through.

The massive blade of his sword flashed crimson before it had even tasted blood and sent a great splatter of scarlet fluid against the wall behind him. The man collapsed, his head flying away into the darkness, and Tom swung again for good measure. His monstrous side roaring in hunger and glee as he turned his attention to the rest of the mongrel filth which were all that were left in the village. He raced down blood soaked streets and leapt from rooftops and by the time he was finished neither man nor horse was left alive. Driven by something he couldn’t explain, he set to the work of arranging them into a gift for his raven. Stopping only once a fractal of pulverized flesh and broken bone spiraled out across the street around them with the still unconscious wizard lying in the center.

His Inferus snorted its satisfaction at his work and Tom went back to where Harry had been lying, lifting him into his lap and wrapping his body around him. Snuggling close. Checking him for injuries. Then bedding down against the stone to wait until his Sparkling woke up. Finally as the sun began to rise, the fires burning down and the smoke beginning to clear, green eyes slid open. He jerked when he realized he was being held and began to struggle and the Claymore tucked his head beneath his chin and crooned. The rumbling sound was something impossible for a human to produce and assured the boy that he wasn’t being held captive by one of the attackers from the night before.

“Tom?” his voice was small. Dry and broken. He still sounded scared and Tom hated it, his other half snarling; as much as a large part of his instinct still urged him to devour the Wizard the Inferus was incensed that the boy could be afraid of them when all they’d ever done was protect him. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back.” He said. “I wanted you to have a better life here not to have you get killed by bandits.”

Harry shifted in his arms and the Claymore loosened his grip enough to allow him to do so. “You’re covered in blood.” So incredibly observant. He craned his head enough to peer over his shoulder and went pale, no doubt having spied the macabre gift he’d left for him like a cat might a bird it had killed for its owner. “You killed them.”

“All of them.” He confirmed. “They deserved it. Bloody animals. Should have known better than to attack what was mine to protect if they’d wanted to live!”

“But the Order’s law…” his green eyes were beginning to brighten as tears threatened. Tom crooned again but it did nothing, this time, and the tears spilled over. “What’s going to happen now? They’re going to be after you aren’t they? They’ll try and kill you.”

“Harry.”

“This is my fault! I’m so sorry! This is my fault!”

“Harry!”

“If I hadn’t followed you after I was thrown out of Godric’s Hollow-!”

Snarling, Tom shut the boy up in the only way he could. Lunging forwards, pursuing him when the little Wizard jerked back in surprise, he pressed his mouth against his. Harry let out a squawk of surprise which quickly turned into a moan, tiny and embarrassed sounding though for what reason Tom couldn’t fathom as no one alive was around to see them, and reached up to twine his fingers in his soft silver curls. He deepened the kiss with a low purr, rising in volume when the smaller male let him in. Pulling him closer. Blunted nails scraping at his scalp.

 _Mine._ Pulling back briefly to allow the raven to breathe he went in again for another kiss. _Mine_!  He took full advantage of the newly exposed territory, his purring growing louder as Harry clung to him. _Never, never, never let you go. Never again._

Once absolutely certain he wouldn’t start prattling on again once given the chance Tom broke off the kiss yet again and straightened up. “They’re going to be after me now, Sparkling. For breaking their precious ‘no killing humans’ rule, I’ll be put to death.” His thin lips drew back into a sharp smirk. “Provided they manage to assemble a team strong enough to pull it off, which won’t happen quickly. We have a bit of a head start in this game of tag.”

“You’re not going to leave me again, are you?” grimacing at the blood slathered across his skin and clothing, Harry still repositioned himself appropriately in Tom’s lap to tuck his head into the side of his neck.

“No. I’m not going to leave you again, Sparkling.” He propped his chin on the top of his head again. “You’re going to stay right here, with me, until the very end.”


	13. Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

The forests had thinned as they moved back down from the mountainous Eastern Province at a clip which was almost too much for Harry to keep up with, the cold lessening the further they went towards the border of Ravenclaw and Avalon. Now able to be fully certain there were no bandits lurking in ambush somewhere-and even if some of them were left Harry knew the Claymore wouldn’t hold back any longer simply on account of them being human-Harry was able to focus himself on a much more pressing concern. Contrary to what he’d expected the further they got from Grimmauld Place the more agitated Tom became and if he sped up much more he’d find himself accidentally left behind.

How long it took the Claymore to notice the little raven wasn’t certain, and apologetic and horrified at himself as Tom would no doubt be Harry didn’t want to have to go through such an experience if it could be avoided. Neither of them needed the extra stress and trauma.

True to form and no doubt aided by the inherent grace of his Inferus half the older male had easily made it to the bottom of the hill with nary a hair out of place where, thank God, he’d stopped to wait for him (though even from this distance he could tell from the set of his shoulders and the tension in his frame that Tom was having genuine trouble keeping still). Harry, limited by his purely human capabilities and clumsy to begin with, especially now that the terrain and what had happened a handful of days before had beaten him into complete physical and emotional exhaustion, had only made it about halfway down the length of the hill. Here, at the transition point between the dusty grass of a mild slope and the sheer drop of an escarpment he’d been forced to pull up short. Boulders, roots and firmly anchored clumps of woody scrub dotted the face of the incline at intervals which was a bloody good thing for his prospects of betting down to where Tom stood as without them he wouldn’t have stood a snowflake’s chance in a firestorm: the thing only avoided classification as a dead-drop by the narrowest of margins and was a good deal higher than what he’d been thrown off outside Godric’s Hollow.

Even at full strength he’d have been more than dubious about attempting to make it down, but like this? It was all but a certainty he’d fall; the only real question was how far down he’d manage to make it before that happened. But he didn’t have much choice: there was no way around the ledge or even an area with a slightly more forgiving angle. And he’d already been enough of a burden on Tom, who was now marked for death for the crime of saving his life, that he couldn’t justify asking the Claymore to help him down.

It was brave the drop or be left behind.

Allowing himself only a moment further to gather his nerve, Harry took a deep breath and jumped over the ledge; landing on the boulder which formed an outcropping a few yards below and managing to keep his feet. What route had Tom taken? Had he gone right from there and swung down on a protruding root or left and climbed down to the next boulder using the weathered crevasses in the rock and clumps of scrub as handholds? With only a split second to consider the little wizard chose left and began the climb down. The crevasses and clumps were thick and spaced far apart, presenting a challenge for his small hands and short limbs, but Harry managed well enough and in that manner made it a little over halfway down the rock face.

Another boulder was just below him and slightly to his right. If he made it onto that he could slide down a length of root and make it safely to the ground and they could continue onwards. Put more distance between them and Grimmauld Place. Further delay his companion’s inevitable capture and execution (which Harry was trying actively not to think about). He couldn’t quite reach the boulder with his legs simply by stretching. Gritting his teeth and shimmying a bit closer he tried, and failed, again. Seemed he’d have to swing from the clump of scrub he was currently clinging to with his left hand and hope for the best.

 _Here goes nothing._ Tightening his hold on the scrub and bracing his feet against the rock Harry released his hold on the stone he’d been keeping himself anchored to with his right and prepared to enact his plan. But his weight, even small as he was, proved too much for the scrub to support alone. The roots came free of their moorings with the crackle of wood and stone and the next thing he knew he was falling.

The drop was over before he could affectively draw the breath to scream and, luckily (at least he supposed that was the right word for it) he landed on his feet. Or, more specifically, his left foot. Pain flared through his ankle as he toppled into the dust with a thump, tears blurring his vision instantly and a high whimper (though more of it was from surprise than anything else) wrenched itself from his lips. Tom was beside him in seconds, silver eyes alight with concern as he took him by the shoulders and quickly searched him for injury.

“Harry,” he sounded half breathless and half ferocious (though there was little he could do in way of retribution when the one who had hurt him was a cliff) and despite himself the raven cracked a smile. “Are you alright?”

The grit of dust was still in his mouth and he was still clutching onto the scrub that had nearly dropped him onto his head. The soil tasted like chalk and iron, faintly reminiscent of blood, and he leaned over to spit into the dirt before he answered. “I landed on my ankle.”

“This one?” Harry gasped in pain when Tom lightly touched the ankle in question. “Seems like it. I’ll try and be gentle, Sparkling, but I need to take a look.” The raven nodded, biting back a whimper as the Claymore carefully pulled off his boot and gently probed at the area for a few moments before he sat back. “It isn’t broken. Sprained, most likely. You’re in pain?”

“A bit.” Harry admitted, struggling to his feet. “But it’s nothing terrible. I can wa- _ah_!”

Refusing to support his weight, his ankle crumpled and it was only Tom’s arms that prevented Harry from hitting the ground again. “It doesn’t look that way to me, Harry.” He said, swinging the little raven up into his arms with startling ease. “Attempting to force yourself to walk despite the pain of your injury won’t be of help to anyone. And I don’t want you harming yourself further.”

“Tom,” Harry said, squirming in his hold, “we can’t stop!”

“We’re not going to stop, Sparkling.” Tom began walking back towards the tree line. “At least, not here. We’ll wait out your recovery in the inn of the nearest town, but until we arrive there I’m going to carry you.”

“But-.”

“Hush. We’ve gone over this, I believe; you weigh less than half what my sword does so carrying you is of no trouble to me.” He said. “I’m sorry, Harry, that I allowed myself to become so distracted I didn’t realize that cliff face was too much for you. That I failed to prevent you from falling. But most of all that I failed to catch you when you did.”

“Please don’t apologize. Not when it’s my fault we’re in this situation in the first place.”

A low growl picked up in Tom’s chest, softening in his throat but not failing to vibrate the Claymore’s body. Dropping his face into Harry’s hair, he began rubbing his cheek against the top of his head like a cat possessively marking its territory. “What those worthless bags of meat brought down upon their own heads if _not_ your fault.” Silver eyes opened, staring into his reproachfully from just centimeters away. Harry could feel Tom’s breath against his lips when he spoke. “And before you even say it, because I can tell you’re thinking it, you’re not a nuisance. Not a burden. What I’ve said before be damned to hell. What you are, all that you’ll ever be and all that matters, is _mine_.”

Harry wasn’t pleased with things, Tom could tell by the ashen taste it left on his tongue, but he held further words on the matter at bay. Tom’s inner Inferus hissed, displeased their mate was so unhappy; so stubbornly unreasonable as to refuse to relinquish blame which in no way belonged to him.

“And your injury isn’t the only reason that I’m carrying you. As a matter of fact, Sparkling, it’s simply my excuse.”

“Then what is your reasoning?” He looked genuinely confused. Green eyes wide and innocent with a minorly perturbed crease visible between them. How very innocent he was, even after all he’d gone through, Tom couldn’t keep himself from purring. “Tom!”

“Oh, it’s quite simple really.” The older man replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at him. “Having you so conveniently close to me makes it oh so very easy to do this.” The kiss was brief and dry; lasting less than a quarter of the time the desperately possessive one in Foxwick had, but was no less sweet. “I love you, Harry. I didn’t get a chance to say it before. And I don’t regret going back to save you. So do stop attempting to blame yourself for the crime that I’ve committed; you see, I’d rather have seen you happy in my final days than sad.”

That last comment seemed to have distressed the raven more than he’d meant it to and Tom would have cursed over the matter if not for the fact that would certainly have made it worse. Harry reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, tucking his face into the gentle slope of his shoulder.

“I love you too, Tom.”

Both halves of himself purred together and Tom took the chance to thoroughly nuzzle his cheek against the wizard’s hair before focusing his full attention on continuing forward. Picking up his pace to something far beyond the capabilities of a human, covering enough ground to reach civilization again just before sunset.

The town looked unremarkable, little different from any other and utterly indistinguishable at only a glance. Only now that they’d reached the main road did Tom slow his pace to the equivalent of a human walk, dropping his head and attempting to draw as little attention as a Claymore carrying an injured wizard who looked considerably younger than his actual age of sixteen could (which was still quite a lot). Thankfully, due to the edge of night being so close, the streets of the unnamed (at least in Harry’s mind as he hadn’t seen a sign coming in) town were almost empty and they were only subjected to a few nervous stares as they made their way to shelter for the night in an inn called _The Horn and Jester_.

The hinges on the front door were not well oiled and moaned when the door swung inwards, the sound enough to make both Harry and Tom flinch and attract the attention of the inn keep; an unremarkable man with a sullen face. He turned an unhealthy grey color the moment he realized what had entered his establishment.

“There are no Inferus here; my companion has injured himself during our travels and requires rest in order to heal.” Tom informed the man before he could find his voice. “We do not have funds with which to pay you, but winter is soon at hand in this province and hit hard. The fire wood you have out back is unsplit and inefficient in amount to last until the weather warms. In return for room and board, and no board for me, I’m more than willing to rectify that problem for you.”

The man continued to stare at them for a moment longer, eyes going back and forth between the Claymore and the wizard he was holding, before he recovered enough to inform them shakily of the room number and hand the key over (to Harry, so that he didn’t have to have Tom’s hands near him, which led the raven to lob a vicious glare at him).

“Thank you.” The Claymore said, striding passed the desk and up the stairs. Ignoring Harry’s sound of annoyance as he folded his arms over his chest. “What’s wrong, Sparkling? You’re not in pain, are you?”

“A bit, but all the moving around has made my ankle kind of numb.” Harry said. “I just don’t like it. They way you’re treated like you’re no less of a monster than an Inferus that’s ripping people open and eating their entrails. They don’t know you, what you’re really like, and you don’t deserve it.”

“I’ve told you before, Harry,” Tom said softly as they walked down the quiet corridor, “I didn’t set out to be a hero. Didn’t join the Order by my own will and the intent to save others.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be treated with the same decency as everyone else.” Harry informed him, lower lip jutting out into a staunch pout. Tom couldn’t quite keep his expression from softening as he looked down at him. “Humans are cruel. ‘Normal’ people especially. If I didn’t know that from a life time spent in Godric’s Hollow, Foxwick definitely made it clear.”

At the reminder of what had happened, of the fact that his mate had almost been taken by some filthy bandit bastard, his inner Inferus snarled. Tom shifted the little raven in his arms, holding him closer.

“I’m glad you let me stay with you, Tom.” He said, resting his head against the older man’s clavicle. “I’m a wizard. You’re a Claymore who’s broken their Golden Law. When they find us they’ll kill us both and I’m happy for that because I won’t be left alone again.”

“They’re not going to be killing either of us, Sparkling.” Tom shouldered open the door once it had been unlocked and stepped into the room. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Do you?” Green eyes blinked up at him.

“Quite a lot.” The Claymore replied. “You smell like smoke and death; we both do. I’ll run you a bath before taking you to bed and then I’ll take one after you.”

“And join me?”

“Harry-.”

“I know. All that sex with you will lead to is getting my guts ripped out but I’m not asking for that.” Harry said. “I just want you to lay down with me.”

“Sleeping in a bed is…uncomfortable. Something about the stigma and the habit of sitting against my sword.” Seeing the disappointment flash across his face Tom sighed, “but,” he said as he sat the little raven on the edge of the nickel tub and reached over to pick up the bucket of warm water one of the staff had hastily delivered. “I’ll lay down with you a bit later, after you’ve eaten, until you fall asleep.”

“And you’ll stay in the room afterwards?” Harry reached for him.

“Yes.” Gently, with a touch so incredibly delicate it were as if the Claymore feared the bones inside his hand would shatter apart, he took it in his own. “Unless I’ve no other choice, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Harry’s expression was one caught between relief and discomfort. “Does that mean you’re going to watch me bathe?” never mind the fact that he’d already seen the raven naked, covered in ash and berry juice.

“Do you want me to?” after a brief pause, Harry shook his head. Tom pressed a brief kiss to his scar before stepping to the door. “I’ll be just outside. Call me if you need anything.” Though odds were he’d already know without needing to be called, with how in tune with the little wizard he’d become.

Closing the bathroom door most of the way behind him Tom made his way over to the window and twitched aside the curtains; peering out at the street below: empty, as expected, but it still paid to be sure. Even with his Dark Aura as dampened as he could make it without the aid of suppressants, it behooved them to be cautious. He knew, after all, that it was only a matter of time before the Order discovered what had happened if they didn’t know already. And Tom didn’t doubt he’d have the deaths of the citizens of Foxwick as well as those of the bandits dropped on his head simply out of convenience.

He didn’t like feeling hunted. But there was nothing much he could do about the matter aside from wait and be prepared to act the moment the need arose. To protect both of them. If he had to mow over the entire Order he would if it meant keeping Harry safe. Anything for his Sparkling.

That sentiment was one which originated from his Inferus half, but that his human half entirely agreed with. Without Harry immediately at hand to satisfy the desire to check him over again and not wanting to frighten him off (not that that was likely to happen after everything he’d already gone through) by suddenly barging back into the bathroom Tom distracted himself by removing his gear.

Sword leaned against the little chair someone had set beside a small table. Livery on said small table. Grieves beside the door. Opening the folds of his uniform he looked down at the state of the wound in his stomach.

“It’s healed nicely, from the look of it.” Harry said, favoring his left ankle; keeping his weight off it by leaning his body against the frame of the bathroom door. “Not that I’m a doctor or anything.” Pushing off and limping across the room, grimacing all the while, he came towards him. His hands, slightly damp and carrying the lingering heat of the bath he’d taken, rested gently against Tom’s stomach. The pads of his fingers tracing the puckered gash which ran across pale skin and iron muscle. “Nothing but a scar left.”

“One among many.” Tom covered those warm hands with his own.

Harry looked up at him, his green eyes clearly saying ‘too many’.

“Harry,” he said gently, silver eyes soft as down, “you should be laying down. Your ankle will only get worse if you continue to put weight on it.”

“I’m not putting weight on it.” Harry said, balanced on his right foot. Tom raised his eyebrows. “Help me over, would you?”

“Of course.” Releasing one of the raven’s hands the Claymore instead wrapped an arm around his waist and walked him over to the bed. “The waters still in the tub?”

“You said you were going to bathe after me; I didn’t want to make you have to have another bucket delivered and I’m not in a shape to bale the water out the window.”

“Just making sure,” said the older male, turning back towards the bathroom. “I’ll be out again soon.”

“I’m patient.”

Rolling his eyes but not dignifying the statement otherwise, Tom shut the door behind him and stripped out of his uniform. The water had lost most of its heat but was still vastly more comfortable than a forest stream could ever be in the low mountains at that time of year. Once the sweat and blood and the accompanying smells of forest and burn out were off of him he picked up the tub and poured the contents out the window into the grass outside. That done, he dried and redressed before snuffing the candle and emerging back into the main room.

Harry was sitting on the bed just where Tom had left him; propped against the headboard with his leg stretched out before him, massaging his sprained ankle.

“Don’t mess with it.” He said, crossing the room with soft steps and coming to sit beside him. “Agitating it won’t solve anything.”

“But it hurts!” Harry mewled.

Gently, Tom pried his hands away. “Doing that is only going to make it hurt more.” He said. “Lay down. I’ll go down and see if the inn keep can spare some bandages and cold water from which to make a compress.”

“And some pain relievers?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stood up. “And some pain relievers.”

“And that will work?”

“It will help.”

Harry huffed and crossed his arms again, though Tom sensed that the action had more to do with restraining his hands than frustration. “Fine.”

Tom was unable to resist reaching over and ruffling his hair before he exited the room, grinning when Harry sputtered in annoyance.

Darkness had fully fallen outside and the hall was thick with shadows; Tom made so little noise descending the stairs he may as well have been one of them himself and when he spoke up was the cause of great alarm to the innkeeper.

“As I said when we arrived my companion is injured; he sprained his ankle while we were traveling and has come to be in a fair amount of pain. Seeing him suffering…upsets me.” The dangerous softness of his voice had the man all but cowering in his chair. “If you happened to have the necessary medical supplies to spare and a bit of food for him I’ll not bother you again for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow, we can see to our business arrangement.”

“I…o-of course, Claymore. If you could just give me a moment to get everything together I can take it-.”

“I’ll take it up if that’s all the same to you.” Quicksilver eyes brokered no disagreement. The man swallowed thickly, nodded, and rushed to assemble the items he’d requested onto a tray. Once he’d done so, Tom wasted not a moment further in carting it back up to their room. “Eat before you take the pain reliever, Sparkling, or you’ll end up with a sore stomach on top of it all. Not to mention the fact that it’ll make you drowsy and I’d rather not have to rescue you from drowning in your soup.”

“Yes, Mum.” Harry grumbled as Tom set the tray across his lap.

“I’ll wrap your foot while you’re eating.” Lifting the bandages and bowl of cold water off the tray and setting them in his lap he set to doing just that; even being as gentle as possible, Harry still spat soup halfway across the room at one point when the Claymore’s fingers came into contact with a particularly tender spot.

“I’m finished.” Harry presented his empty bowl like a trophy. “May I please drink the pain reliever now?”

“You may.” Tom didn’t think he’d ever seen someone drink something so fast. “You may also thank me later for not needing to vomit because you drank it first.”

The raven’s grumbled reply was likely meant to be something witty, ruined by the sudden thickness of his tongue which rendered it utterly indistinguishable. His head flopped back as if all the bones in his neck had suddenly dissolved and he toppled onto the pillows.

  _That,_ Tom thought, setting the tray outside the door, _was a powerful dose._

With the entrance to the room secured Tom returned to the bed and curled up next to Harry. His other half settling as the smaller male curled against him while, at the same time, the press of warm skin sent a pang of hunger flaring through him he didn’t want to think about.

Blinded by his anger he’d come within a hairsbreadth of losing what little humanity he had left completely. He hadn’t quite fallen over the edge but he was teetering there, even now, and all hope of going back was lost. He’d crossed a soft threshold and the door had slammed behind him; tumbling forward into the maw of his own power was the only choice he had left, the inevitable outcome of his situation. Tom didn’t know how long he had.

He could only hope that the Inferus’ determination that the little raven was its mate would spare Harry from being brutally slaughtered when his control finally did snap. That the desire to protect would overpower the desire to turn his intestines into tartar.

Harry grumbled something else in his half-asleep state and nuzzled closer. Tom wrapped his arms around the little wizard and closed his eyes, ignoring the steadily increasing discomfort stemming from his position. Relaxing into the other’s calm breathing and the resting best of his heart.

Hours later at nearly dawn his eyes snapped open at the scratch of a Dark Aura against the tendrils of his own perceptions. Unhidden but so weak it was nearly undetectable. His hackles rose, a growl leaving him as he straightened up. Squinting through the low light of the yet unrisen sun.

Tom left the bed, grabbed his sword and gear and left the room through the window. Gripping the eaves above and pulling himself up onto the roof. Dragging his own aura further into himself than he ever had before and slinking off to find his quarry. It didn’t take him long.

The other Claymore didn’t even sense him coming, letting out a squeal of alarm when he crashed into his back; pinning him to the street with a foot against his neck. “I must admit surprise, Number 47; I’d expected something more.” He sneered. “You always have been sniveling and pathetic; I’m not certain how you made it through training. Perhaps it was clever of them to send the weakest of all of us, expecting that I wouldn’t sense you.”

“H-H-Heartless!” The rat-man squeaked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! What are you doing here? I was just on my way to a job.”

“To execute me?”

“Execute-? Y-You’re Number One! It would take the rest of the t-top five and a lot of l-l-luck to execute you.” Watery, tarnished eyes squinted up at him. “You’ve broken the Golden Law?”

“Never you mind, rat.” Tom bore down with his full weight briefly before releasing him. Allowing the other to scramble back onto his feet. “You, Pettigrew, will continue moving out of this town. You will not even so much as consider looking back. And you’ll not speak a word of this or I’ll see to it you’ll never speak again. Am I understood?” the other nodded. “Good. Now, get out of here!”

A sharp gesture accompanied the order and was more than enough to send the other Claymore running. Tom stood right where he was, statuesque and rigid, until the weakest member of his generation had disappeared from sight. Only then did he return to the inn.

Shafts of newly minted light were just beginning to filter through the window; Harry lay curled up in the bed, softly breathing and still fast asleep; Tom felt the tension bleed from his shoulders.

“I’ll admit, he is quite cute.” The Claymore whirled around with a snarl, sword flashing to hand, but all Abraxas did was lift his cup of tea off its saucer and calmly take a sip. “Relax, Voldemort.” He said, setting it down again with a clink. “It’s not against our laws to slaughter Magicals.”

“They were bandits.” Tom corrected, largely out of shock. “Not Magicals.”

“I’m very much aware of what they were but-largely thanks to me-as far as the Order at large is concerned you haven’t broken the Golden Law. And Dumbledore and Grindlewald are willing to forgive what happened just this once; extenuating circumstances.”

“Bullox!” Tom growled. “What’s the real reason?”

The blonde smoothed out the lapels of his jacket; velveteen and the same color as Harry’s eyes. “Your fear of death, though marginally sufficient to control you, is impractical to truly exercise considering your power. Dumbledore wanted a better leash.” Abraxas said. “Obey. Cooperate. Or else.”

“Or else what?” when Abraxas’ gaze traveled deliberately to Harry’s sleeping form he snarled again. “ _That bastard would threaten **him?** He isn’t involved in this!”_

“Involved or not, you’d best keep your head down and your actions mindful. Or his death, and your being forced to witness it if you have to have suppressants forced down your throat and then be held down, will be your punishment.” He said. “Be grateful. You get to live and keep your pet as long as you do your job. Speaking of, I’ve a ‘worthwhile’ assignment for you this time. An Awakened Being has been stirring up trouble just outside Holyhead. You’re to meet two others there in three weeks’ time; that should give your Wizard’s ankle plenty of time to be put right.”

“Baring contact with the Badger of the North herself I don’t require aid against an Awakened One.” Though if his concerns about his state were truly valid Tom couldn’t be certain that was true; he wouldn’t be able to use his powers freely if he wanted to avoid being dragged any closer towards Awakening himself.

“They aren’t going to be there because of the Awakened Being. They’re going to be there to keep the villagers safe in the event of another…protective rage.” Leaving the empty cup sitting on the table, Abraxas got to his feet and exited the room with the parting statement of “remember: behave.”

All higher mental functions had stopped working at that point, the reality of the blatant threat to Harry’s life setting his instincts on fire; the only thing which seemed right for him to do in that moment, the only thing he could make his body do, was stumble back to the bed and coiled his body protectively around his smaller form.


	14. Moony, Padfoot and the Heartless

_The fire crackled loudly; sparks shot into the dark sky as one of the logs fueling it snapped and fell. The smell of wood smoke was almost entirely buried beneath the iron scent of human blood that filled his nose, his face buried in something warm and slick which tore beneath sharp teeth. The resistance of it making the cavernous hunger which filled him even worse. More painful. Clawing at the wracking emptiness and pulling a growl from his lips. He clamped down; tugged; flesh tore and the force pulled his head and shoulders back from his meal enough to catch sight of green eyes, glazed and frozen open, staring back at him.’_

Tom jolted awake with a howl and toppled sideways from the upright positon he’d been in against the headboard. The sensation of falling led him to twist around inside his skin in a failed attempt to land with some dignity intact and the resultant thud of his body hitting the floor was immediately followed by a swear and the sound of breaking glass; startled by the noise Harry, who had since woken up and gotten out of bed, had dropped the teacup he’d been curiously investigating onto the floor where it shattered.

“Tom!” He said a moment later, having recovered, taking a small step forwards. “What-?”

But the older man had already flashed passed him into the bathroom and shut the door; ramming into the side of the nickel tub and almost flinging it into the wall. Cold from head to toe, able to taste the blood in his mouth and feel the bits of flesh caught between his teeth, he thrust his fist down his throat. Body instantly obeying the forceful activation of his gag reflex and spilling its contents into the basin: nothing but stomach acid. He hadn’t killed the little raven. Hadn’t eaten him. It had only been a dream.

This time.

Dropping his head against the side of the tub, feeling the cold metal press into the clammy skin of his flushed face, Tom exhaled a shaky breath. Clenching his fists against the floor. A dream. A nightmare. But how long before it became real?

The door behind him creaked as it was pushed open. Harry’s footsteps limped across the floor. Kneeling down beside him with life and worry in those eyes, those blank eyes the sight of which had been branded against his very soul, Harry reached out and took his face in his hands. Fingers sliding along the cut of Tom’s jawline. Palms cradling his cheeks. “Nightmare?”

Tom pulled him close instead of answering and dropped his face into his hair. Curling around him defensively. Clutching at his back even though the one he truly wanted to defend him against was himself; the monster inside of him that was now just beneath the skin.

Death, it seemed, was in the little raven’s cards. More so than any other mortal creature. Misfortune and disaster followed him wherever he went like nagging crows; a little disaster artist if ever there was one. Leaving him alone wasn’t an option. Keeping him with him made Tom both the raven’s protector and ultimate demise. Because even if Harry was lucky and he was seen, post Awakening, as his mate that would only win out for so long. Maybe months. Maybe years. But the hunger would take precedence eventually and the awful scene he’d just been forced by his own fears to witness would inevitably come true.

“When I have them it helps to talk about it.” Harry said, dipping his head into the taller man’s frosted curls as Tom tucked his face into the side of his neck. “I’ll listen. If you want to.”

Talk about it? Tell Harry that he was having visions of eating him? That at any moment, because of one misstep or simply time, he’d himself become a monster with an unending hunger and a taste for human flesh? Unable to speak for fear of letting free something hysterical, Tom shook his head. Taking a deep breath of the raven’s scent and allowing himself to become anchored in the present instead of a future he couldn’t control. Slowly calming down enough to be willing to detach himself from the smaller male.

“Is your ankle feeling better?” he asked, opting to change the subject instead. “You were up and about when I woke up so the pain can’t be too bad.”

“I’m still feeling the effects of the pain reliever, to be honest.” He said, getting to his feet and following Tom out of the bathroom. “It was a lot stronger than I expected it would be. The ones they gave me at the Holy City weren’t anything like it.”

“It took me a bit by surprise as well.” Tom admitted. “When you slumped over like that I’ll admit you had me a bit concerned, Sparkling. Though I don’t think they’re meant to be drunk so fast.”

Harry made a dismissive sound and crouched down, beginning to pick up the broken pieces of cup. Stacking them in the cradle of his palm with a series of quiet clanks. “When I woke up you were passed out next to me and this cup-well, it’s not really a cup anymore now that I’ve dropped it but that’s not important-was sitting on the table. Did you have some tea while I was sleeping?”

At the mention of the cup the memory of Abraxas’ words came flooding back to him. Tom paused for a moment, considering whether or not he should tell the little raven and risk disquieting him with the information, then he sighed. “No.” He said, helping Harry back towards the bed in spite of his halfhearted grumblings that he didn’t need the assistance. “No, I didn’t have tea while you were asleep. That cup was used by my handler, Abraxas.”

“Handler?”

“Every Claymore has a handler to whom they’re assigned. A human member of the Order of the Phoenix who provides us any supplies which we need and assigns us the jobs passed down by the Order’s higher ups.” He said. “Sparkling, stop squirming. You should still be lying down.”

“Lying down?” Harry sounded outraged by the suggestion. “We need to _leave_ , Tom! If your handler knows where you are the Order-.”

“I’m not to be executed.” Lifting the struggling wizard, he lowered him gently back onto the bed. “That was what he came to tell me. And to assign me my next job.”

“Wha-? You’re not?” a strange mix of relief and confusion adorned the smaller male’s face. “Why? You said there were no exceptions to the Golden Law.”

“There aren’t meant to be.” He said. “But I’m valuable enough to them because of my power, it seems, that an exception to ‘no exceptions’ can indeed be made.” Harry didn’t need to know that he was now being held as the Order’s random. It would only make the little raven begin to blame himself for something else. “We’ve nothing to worry about, so just lie down and rest you’re ankle while I go and pay for our room and board.”

“You don’t have any money left. You gave it all to those bandits when they stopped us in the forest.”

Tom held up a small drawstring bag, the coins inside clinking as it swung gently from his fingers. “I was left a stipend. Not quite as much as I had before, but more than enough.”

“The inn keep might be disappointed he has no one to cut his firewood now.” Harry said, pulling a smile onto his face though he still looked worried. “Where’s your next job? Nearby?”

“No. It’s in the Hufflepuff Province; a town called Holyhead.”

“Hufflepuff? The northern Province is quite a ways away, Tom. Are you sure we’ll make it there in time?”

“We’ll have plenty of time, Harry, though I may end up carrying you at least some of the way.” He said, heading towards the door. “For now, concern yourself with resting.”

Harry didn’t have much choice but to do just that and spent most of that day (as well as a small handful of days after) lain up without much of anything to do. The silver lining in the situation was that Tom was accommodating of his desire to hang off of him, and tolerated the fact that the little raven spent the majority of that time sitting in his lap. They set off again the moment that Tom deemed him capable of walking without doing harm to himself, and by the time they’d made camp again that night the wizard could only be grateful for the fact that they were moving again.

Travel was uneventful though the turn of the season had made the going hard. Though not quite as cold in the northern Province as it had been in the mountainous east it was still far from comfortable for Harry, especially without his traveling cloak from the Holy City, who having grown up in the south where it never got any colder than ‘balmy’ and was not in any way used to such extremes and though Tom did his best to keep him warm it had only stretched so far. Though, admittedly, he’d quite enjoyed the night the Claymore had resorted to bundling him inside of his uniform against the bare skin of his chest and, though Tom had seemed strained by the effort, used his Dark Aura to raise his internal temperature enough that he was putting up nearly as much heat as the fire.

At least Harry had managed to keep all of his fingers and toes despite winter’s best efforts to nip them black and blue.

“We’ll reach Holyhead by mid-day and spend the night in the inn there. My comrades should arrive at some point today as well.” Tom told him, grieves clicking against the frost hardened forest path. “Stay close, Harry. These woods aren’t safe.”

Harry, who had been staring up at the massive spruce tree splitting the sky above them, jumped slightly and scrambled to catch up with the older male. Tom rested a hand on his shoulder, smirking, but said nothing else. “We’re going to be working with other Claymore?” considering how Tom had acted towards him at first Harry wasn’t very keen on meeting more of the Order’s warriors. Then again, maybe Tom had been an especially arrogant case. “How many?”

 _“ **I**_ will be working with two of my fellow warriors. **_You_** will wait for me to return from slaying the beast in the inn, where you’ll be safe.”

“But I’ve been around you when you were killing Inferus before.” Harry protested, that stubborn tint beginning to invade his voice. “What’s different this time?”

Tom sighed, stopped and knelt in front of him. Though he recovered well, the unexpected action took the raven by surprise. “This, Sparkling, is an entirely different situation than even the cathedral back in Avalon. The beast I’ve been sent to kill is proper fare for one of my rank and is many times more dangerous than a mere Inferus could ever be. I am not letting you anywhere near this thing; I won’t have you in harm’s way. ** _Please_** stay in the inn where you’ll be safe. It shouldn’t take more than a week for me to return and you’ll be able to do what you like around town.”

“During the day.” Harry grumbled, then sighed. “It’s really that dangerous?”

“Yes.” Tom’s expression had crumpled into something petulant and worried. The raven sighed again and attempted to smooth down the wrinkles which had formed at the corners of his eyes with his fingers.

“Alright.” He said. “I’ll stay at the inn.”

“Thank goodness.”

“But not for my own safety.”

Tom blinked in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll stay at the inn for your safety, not for mine. If it’s really that dangerous I don’t want you to get hurt again because you were worried about protecting me.”

Even after everything Harry still blamed himself for the Claymore’s brush with death in the Holy City. Tom didn’t like it, but if it would work in his favor to keep the wizard out of trouble then he’d let it be for the time being.

Getting back to his feet Tom rested his hand on Harry’s head briefly before the pair resumed walking. Their footsteps against the hard ground were the only sounds for a long time. A robin alighted on a branch overhead and picked at the bright red berries of a yew tree. The wind hissed through the needles of the forest around them, the soft wooden trunks creaking and popping around them. Slowly, the forest thinned to nothing and the town of Holyhead opened up in front of them.

Somewhere in size between Foxwick and Godric’s Hollow, the large wooden buildings looked homey and the streets were festooned with streamers in silver and gold.

“It looks like there’s some sort of festival going on.” Harry said, shifting his weight forward onto his toes with excitement lighting up his face. “I’ve never been to one before. I wonder what they’re celebrating.”

“After we’ve gotten a room for you at the inn, while I wait for the others to arrive, you’ll be able to find that out.” Tom said, patting Harry’s hair as they continued on their way. The town growing ever closer. “I’ll give you the pouch of coin to do with as you please. I’m sure you’ll have fun running wild this next week.”

“If things even go that long.” Tom nodded vaguely to Harry’s statement. “I’m sure I will have fun but I’d have more fun if you were with me, Tom.”

“No you wouldn’t. As much as you enjoy my company others do not and my presence will only sour the experience for you.” Tom said. “Normal people, people of their right mind, aren’t very comfortable around Claymore.”

“I don’t care much about ‘normal’ people.” Harry informed him, speeding his pace to a trot. Tom chuckled and followed after him.

The streets of Holyhead despite the presence of the Awakened Being, were full of smiling and laughing people though there was a noticeable tenseness in the air and every few minutes someone would look towards the sky to check the position of the sun. They became even more so when they caught sight of Tom: men glared in suspicion, mothers pulled their children close and young people whispered together as they passed. As usual, Tom ignored them and pushed the little wizard ahead towards the inn.

The inn keeper was friendlier to them than most, though that didn’t really count for very much. After receiving the key to the proper room and handing Harry the pouch of coin, bidding him to return by nightfall and to buy what he wanted, Tom made his way back to the darkest corner of the lower floor. Reclining in one of the chairs with the creak of wooden legs, sword propped against its side. He didn’t have to wait longer than a handful of hours: the door swung open, light spilling in from outside and making his eyes burn after so long in the dark, and two men entered. Both Claymores. One taller than the other and bringing up the rear while the shorter of the two bounded ahead, moving more like an overexcited dog than any properly dignified Claymore. The symbol on his livery was one which meant nothing to Tom (he only bothered keeping track of the top ten and, well, it was hard not to find Wormtail memorable for his weakness).

“You’re the boss, then?” he pulled out another chair and threw himself into it; the other one sat down normally. “We were told we’d be working with a single digit but weren’t told who.”

Tom grunted in disinterest and crossed his arms. _This_ was why he preferred working solo.

“I apologize for him; I’ve worked with him a number of times now and can assure you this is just his personality.”

“Come off it, Moony! We’ve been friends since the academy; don’t be like that!” Dog-warrior complained, slumping down onto his elbows like a pouting child. “I think introductions are in order! I’m Sirius ‘Padfoot’ Black, Rank 33. I’ve been on eight Awakened hunts not counting this one, none solo.”

The look which briefly passed across the other’s face made it obvious he was praying for patience. “Remus ‘Moony’ Lupin, Number 22 within the Order. I’ve been on fifteen Awakened hunts not counting this one, five of them alone.”

“You needn’t know my real name, it’s of no consequence, but you may refer to me as ‘Heartless’ Voldemort.” Tom’s sharp smile caught the light as he leaned forward in his chair, the Rune on his livery flashing silver as his eyes. “All of my jobs, up until this one, have been solo as I’m the Order’s current Number One.”

Tom knew his reputation within the Order of the Phoenix: cruel, actively combative and belligerent, far too loose with the use of his Dark Aura and more volatile than an oil-fed fire. It preceded him, apparently, because ‘Padfoot’ pushed away from the table so quickly he almost toppled backwards.

“Bloody hell!” He looked over at ‘Moony’ as if expecting him to have answers only to find that his friend had gone quite grey in the place. “What’d we do to deserve being forced to work with Voldemort as punishment?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything the door of the inn opened a third time and allowed a familiar figure inside. Harry, to the obvious shocked horror of the others, walked right up to him and stopped beside his chair. A small box was in his hands, looking suspiciously as if it had come from a bakery and emitting the sugar-spun scent of chocolate. Tom raised an eyebrow. “It’s not near nightfall yet, Sparkling. You still have four hours before you need to come back.” He said. “You don’t go through all of the money I gave you already did you?”

“What do you think I did, purchase the entire festival? I still have most of what you gave me; I know it has to last while you’re away.” His tone was one which bordered on disrespect and plainly made the other two fear for his life, Golden Law aside. Catching sight of their stares Harry said “if you’re not careful those will pop out and roll away” before returning his full attention to Tom. “I’m here because I saw these and remembered what you said in the Holy City and wanted to get it to you while it was still warm. Though I got weird looks when I paid full price for ‘crumbs’ as they called it.” Opening the box, the little raven pulled out the single smallest slice of chocolate cake Tom had everseen. Holding it between his forefinger and thumb, he proffered it to him. “Well?”

“…” The Claymore was certain the ringing in his ears was the sound of his image drowning on the floor in its own blood. “Harry, does this have to happen now?”

The little wizard looked less than impressed. “Chocolate waits for no one, Tom.”

Remus and Sirius exchanged looks and mouthed ‘Tom?’ but the other Claymore ignored them, sighed, and opened his mouth.

“Was that so hard?”

“Shut up and feed me!”

“Rude.” Harry snorted, though he happily complied. Chocolate. God he hadn’t had it in years. Had almost forgotten what it tasted like. Harry snickered when he caught the other’s shiver. “Want to lick my fingers too?”

Ignoring that last comment Tom wrapped his arms around his hips, pulling the little raven close and resting his head on Harry’s chest. “You do murder on my image, Potter.”

The snicker turned into a real laugh as Harry buried his fingers in the other’s silver hair. “I know. I live to wreak havoc on your life and sanity; I relish every moment I make you squirm.”

Tom snorted. “Twirp.”

“Always.” Came the bright reply. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes.”

“Should I leave?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“…” looking as if he’d just swallowed a lemon, Tom admitted “no.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Mischief laced his voice as he pulled free and stepped out of his reach. “Because I really should be going before I ruin your image any more than I already have.”

“It’s in smithereens, Potter! Get back here!” The little raven blew a raspberry, laughed and darted back out into the sun. Tom huffed, reached up, and ran his fingers through his hair to set the curls back to rights. “Why did I ever let him follow me out of Godric’s Hollow?”

None of them had an answer.

“So,” Remus cleared his throat, he and Sirius seeming to have come to an agreement not to mention what had just occurred, “the Awakened hunt?”

Tom gazed at him sharply for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and said “the hunt will start tomorrow.”


	15. Inevitable Conclusion

He’d woken up late; not too late, the indent in the bed beside him where Tom had spent the night propped against the headboard was still warm, but late enough that the Claymore had already left the room. Cursing himself for oversleeping and throwing his shoes on just far enough to be workable   
Harry rushed out the door and down the hall in homes of reaching them before the three Claymore left the inn and headed out into the forested hills where the creature they were hunting lived. He made it to the top of the stairs before his half-on shoe caught against a protruding floorboard and Harry was carried forward by his own momentum with a helpless yelp of surprise.

At once in slow motion and with such suddenness that he hadn’t the time to brace for impact the stairs rushed towards him and he squeezed his eyes shut but the collision never came; familiar arms wound around his waist, arresting his motion against a muscled chest. “You certainly never fail to raise chaos, Sparkling.” Tom released his hold on the railing and dropped to the floor with a clank. “I wasn’t going to walk out on you without saying anything no matter how long it took for you to wake up and drag yourself out of bed. I’d appreciate it if you could refrain from any further attempts to sprout wings and fly.”

A powder blush burned against the apples of his cheeks as the Claymore set him down. “I-I thought…I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight, had just woken up and, well…I should have known you wouldn’t just leave but-.” He looked down at his feet.

Tom set his hand atop the little raven’s head, running his fingers through his wild hair. “The other two have already headed out but I wouldn’t leave without a proper farewell.” Gently gripping his chin and tilting it upwards, the Claymore dipped and kissed him; brief and sweet. “I’ll see you in a few days, my love. For the sake of my sanity, behave and be careful.”

“I can only promise to try.” Harry told him. “And I do. Promise. To try.”

Tom remained standing there for a moment longer, one hand resting on the wing of the little wizard’s hip, then he stepped back with a sigh and left the inn. Alone, Harry’s smile faltered and then slid completely off his face. The other man had only just walked out the door but already the feeling of loneliness, the same crippling ache he’d felt in Foxwick as he watched Tom walk across the bridge without him, returned.

“He’ll be back.” The little raven told himself; it was meant to be reassuring but ended up sounding less like a statement and more like a desperate question. “He’ll be back. He’ll be back. Tom said it should only take about a week, at most, and after it’s all over he’ll be back.”

Unable to bear standing there any longer he walked over to the nearest table, ordered breakfast and, when it was delivered, began to eat. Keeping his eyes on the plate of scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy with bits of sausage in it. He’d gotten halfway through the portion and was in the process of shoveling another forkful into his mouth when the chair across from his was pulled out and occupied without warning. Harry pulled the fork out of his mouth and looked up.

“Er…hello.” He said politely. “Can I help you?”

The man was tall, though slightly less so than Tom, and thinly built but not frail in appearance the way that Claymore were. His hair was long, white blonde and tied back with a green ribbon that matched the fine clothing he wore.

“No, Mr. Potter, you can’t do anything to help me. In fact I’m here for quite the opposite.” He said. “I’m here to help _you_ : I’ve a bit of information which you, little wizard, might find…shall we say ‘interesting’ and leave it there now?”

The hair along the back of his neck rose. “H-How did you know I’m a…” green eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“Not a danger, so there’s no need to get so defensive.” The man said, his expression looking strangely amused as he folded his hands (pale and tipped in well-manicured nails) in front of him. “My name is Abraxas Malfoy. I’m a member of the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort’s handler.”

An Order member? Immediately Harry slid back in his chair, putting as much distance between himself and the other man as possible without resorting to physically moving the piece of furniture that he was sitting in. Once upon a time he’d (foolishly) believed them to be a straight laced organization of law keepers but now he knew better. Abraxas didn’t appear to mind.

“Has Voldemort told you why you’ve come to Holyhead?” he asked.

Eyeing the other man with pointed caution, Harry began eating again. “He said that he has a job here.”

“Did he tell you what that job entails?”

“Killing something stronger than a normal Inferus.” Harry said. “Why is that important?”

Abraxas smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. The expression made his skin crawl. “Have you ever heard of something called an Awakened Being, Harry?”

Awakened Being? “ No.” He said. “What is it?”

“You do know, at least, that Claymore are half-Inferus?” to this, Harry nodded. “An Awakened Being is a Claymore who has lost themselves to their monstrous side; their human mind having been entirely destroyed. Even the weakest of them are many times stronger than the typical Inferus and possess powers far beyond the pall. They can only be safely dealt with by the strongest of Claymore, usually in groups of up to five. And among these beings there is a…subdivision of even greater power.”

“Subdivision?”

He nodded. “Within the ranks of the Awakened there exists a sub-class known as the Eaters of the Abyss, or simply the Abyssal Ones. Throughout history four have existed, and you know the names of all of them: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. They get their name ‘Abyssal’ from the extent of their hunger, which much like their power finds equal only amidst their own kind.”

Harry had never heard the term ‘Abyssal’ before but he did indeed recognize the listed names. They were the names of the Provinces. Of the God-beasts of legend they’d supposedly been laid claim to as territory: the Blood Lion whose back brushed the sky, the Storm Eagle whose wing beats could uproot entire towns, the Stone Badger who could move mountains and the fallen Dread Serpent whose blood had left the western lands toxic for centuries after his death. He shivered in his seat, suddenly feeling very cold. “Why are you telling me this? If you’re just trying to frighten-.”

“I’m trying to warn you; to let you know just what sort of monster may well be your end if you wish to stay with Voldemort for however long you end up living.”

“And what does that have to do with anything you’ve said?” Harry hissed, sounding very much in that moment like a serpent himself.

“Because Abyssals, at their very basic core, are Awakened Number Ones.” Awakened Number Ones? Tom! Tom would become one of those…those things? He knew Inferus existed, had encountered them before; knew, to some degree, about the concept of Awakened Beings if not their name, but the ‘Abyssals’ as the other man had called them were _myths;_ stories to keep children inside at night where they’d have at least the illusion of safety. The fact that they could actually be existing creatures simply didn’t compute and horror bloomed across his face. “It seems you’ve at least some intelligence after all and understand what that entails. If his eyes turn red it means he’s close to-.”

Horror rapidly transformed into anger and he snarled “Tom is not a monster!” at the other man, cutting him off. “He’s not a monster and he’s never going to become a monster! Even if he ‘Awakens’ that isn’t going to change! He loves me.”

“If you really believe that’s true than you’re a fool.” Abraxas leaned back in his chair, his grin becoming a sneer. “Though I suppose that in the end it doesn’t really matter; you won’t live long enough to be eaten by Voldemort’s Awakened form.”

Harry coiled down in his seat, his fingertips heating up. “Is that a threat?”

“No. I’ve said it more than once and I’ll say it again; it, much like the rest of our conversation, is a warning. Because to spare your peace of mind I’m sure the Heartless didn’t tell you the precise reasoning behind his not being executed.” The raven looked up sharply, his glare a silent demand for elaboration which the other gladly indulged. “You, little wizard, are being held for ransom; as long as he obeys, he gets to keep you. But shirking the authority of his masters is in his very nature and it’s only a matter of time before he steps out of line again: when he does, the one who’ll lose their head is you.”

The chair he’d been sitting in toppled backwards with a bang as the little raven jumped to his feet and fled into the gathering storm, the other’s cruel laughter ringing out behind him.

 

ᚦ

Sparks flashed from the strike stone in Remus’ hands, catching at last on the negligibly damp tinder and starting a smoky fire. After a bit more fiddling and the careful feeding of progressively larger pieces of wood he finally managed to grow it large enough to fill the crevice in the rock they’d taken shelter in with heat and light. Outside, the storm continued to rage at the same strength it had for most of the day.

“Weather has bloody great timing.” Sirius grumbled, flopping down onto the ground and landing on Tom’s feet. Removing his grieves from beneath the other’s sopping weight (not that he was really that much better after six hours of walking in pouring rain) with a sound of annoyed disapproval he stepped over him. “You should have brought your toy along, Heartless. Probably would have kept you in a better mood.”

Tom ignored him and moved as far back into the little cave as he could before impaling his sword in the ground and sitting back against it.

“Never thought you’d be one for that sort of thing; ripping the heads off of small animals seems more like what would get you off, not some human child. How is he?”

“Padfoot.” Remus’ warning tone flew right over the other’s head.

“How is he?” Tom repeated. “What do you mean?”

“How good of a lay? I’ve had some fun in the past with humans. But he’s a bit…young. Ten? Twelve?”

“Sixteen; perfectly above board I’ll have you know.” He hissed, narrowing his silver eyes. “And, though he offered his body among other things as payment for being allowed to travel with me I’ll also have you know he yet remains a virgin.” Much to his other half’s displeasure. “He’s not some toy like whatever humans you’ve been with were. Not some pet despite what my damned handler likes to say. I refuse to put my Sparkling into any situation where he’d be in danger from my Inferus!”

“You really care about him.” Even in spite of what they’d seen the day before Remus sounded surprised to have come to such a conclusion.

“I love him.” Tom begrudgingly admitted and turned his head to look out at the sheeting rain. For a split second following that declaration there was complete silence but for the hiss of the weather and the crackle-pop of the fire and then Sirius erupted into a hysterical fit of laughter.

“You love him? _You_ love him?” he snorted. “I guess you’re not so ‘Heartless’ after all, are you Voldemort? Or maybe we should start calling you Tom the way that he does?”

“Call me that again and I’ll roast your tongue over that fire, mutt!” They’d better find the Awakened they’d been dispatched to kill soon, because Tom had doubts about his ability to restrain himself in regards to killing Black if they didn’t.

“Padfoot, please!” Remus sounded more resigned than authoritative. A small muscle in Tom’s face picked up an involuntary twitch. “Just because Voldemort doesn’t quite live up to his image in all aspects doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous or that he should be prodded.”

At least one of the pair of them had their head on straight. Hopefully that fact would carry over into their hunt because otherwise their prospects were rather dismal.

“How did you meet?” their quibbling had gone on for so long that Tom had zoned out, staring into the dancing flames. Starting at the suddenness of his address, he looked up; Sirius had stopped laughing and both of them were staring at him expectantly.

“On a job. When I first entered Godric’s Hollow I though he was an Inferus in disguise because of how thick the scent was on him, but it turned out to be hiding among his family. He led me to it that night but by then they’d already been killed.” He said. “Small loss for him; he wasn’t much more than a slave in that house. After that the other villagers abandoned him to die.”

“And you took him in?”

“No.” Tom grunted. “I left him at the base of the cliff he’d been dropped off to die. The death wouldn’t have been attributable in any way to me. But then little bugger wriggled free and ran into the desert after me and left me no choice but to rescue him. And after saving him a couple more times…he grew on me.”

“Like mold on cheese by the look of it.” Sirius snorted.

Again, Tom ignored him and closed his eyes. “There are shared similarities between us which served as points of bonding. He treats me more like a human that I was ever treated when I was one.” Both of the others jumped when he rose abruptly to his feet and started for the mouth of the crevasse.

“Where are you going? It’s still pouring rain out there.” Remus said.

As if inclement weather was in any way a real concern for one of their kind beyond annoyance. “I don’t care.” Tom said as he passed the fire. “I’m finished with this conversation and won’t be interrogated further. Not by the likes of you or anyone else.” Before either of them could say a further word on the matter he’d slipped back out into the rain.


	16. The Awakened

If the miserable day and night prior hadn’t been enough to make the point clear, the following day was sufficient to drive home the matter that being so far away from Harry was _not_ something his other half was happy about, especially in the wake of what had happened in Foxwick. To be entirely fair, he didn’t like it much either. Couldn’t quite keep his mind from running through all the countless scenarios in which his little raven might end up hurt or killed through either his own reckless clumsiness or the actions, purposeful or not, of others. But he was at least rational enough to realize that the faster they got the hunt over and done with the sooner he’d be able to return to Holyhead and get back on his way towards jobs which wouldn’t force him to be parted from the wizard for extended periods of time.

His Inferus was, however, unconvinced of the validity of this fact and was making things incredibly difficult for everyone involved. So close to the surface his inner monster was able, to at least some degree, to stall his limbs which forced him to move with a slightly stilted lock-jointed gate which became more and more pronounced with every step away from the other male he took. And any efforts made to stretch his perceptions out across his surroundings in an effort to assist the other two in locating their quarry led to nothing: the feelers were more concerned with locating his sparkling and quickly became agitated when they failed to do so.

Five times he’d tried, each with the same result, and now all he had to show for his efforts was a splitting headache made all the worse by the newly cleared up weather’s bright sun and the pungent smell of mud left behind by the night-prior’s drenching assault and it was hard to tell if Tom or his two companions for the job were more annoyed by his inability to be of any real use.

“No wonder you had to be assigned partners.” Sirius snorted from just ahead of him. “You look like a human suffering from a hangover! Are you going to be able to fight this thing when we do find it?”

Aware his wan and mud-splattered state did very little to make him look in any way frightening, Tom still put all the force that he could muster behind the glare he used to answer. “My ability to kill the Awakened One when we find it is entirely uncompromised and not something over which you’ve any need to worry, Black.” He hissed. “I’m having trouble pulling my concerns from the human incarnation of a disaster waiting to happen whom I’ve left unsupervised in Holyhead and my senses are responding to that preoccupation in kind. The two of you are only needed to find it; once you have I’ll dispatch it myself.”

“I’ve little doubt of that.” Remus said from the head of their group. “According to what I was told, the Awakened Being we’re hunting now was only a 27.”

“I’ve taken Awakened Number 5s alone.” They’d been just difficult enough to present a challenge for him, but that had been back when he’d had no concerns about potentially joining his opponent on the opposite side of the battle. “Something barely passed the rank of 30 will be simply dealt with without having to access even enough of my Dark Aura to change the color of my eyes.”

“You’re going to face off with am Awakened rank 27 with less than ten percent of your power, Voldemort? Are you sure that you won’t be too distracted to pull it off?”

Remus made an exasperated noise but had apparently, given up on attempting to keep a leash on his friend because he made no move to intervene.

“Distracted or not I’m fully capable of paying my full dues of focus to a battle, Black.” He growled, snarling as his leg locked up once more and made him stumble. “Are you attempting to suggest something?”

“I’m suggesting, Heartless, that I want to make a bet.” Sirius said, prompting Tom to roll his eyes skyward and Remus to let out a groan. “Five galleons say you’ll either need our help or will have to break the ten percent threshold in order to kill this thing even if it is only a 27.”

Tom’s reply was a highly disinterested grunt.

“Oh, come on Voldemort.” The other man insisted, back to bouncing excitedly about like a hyperactive hound. “Just a friendly wager. It’ll be fun. Spelled F.U.N. You know what that means, don’t you? Something that’s enjoyable.”

“I don’t engage in pointless idiocy.” He replied. “’Fun’ or not. Confident as I am that I would win, that money doesn’t simply sit in my coin purse and gathered dust as, perhaps, it does in yours. Sparkling is a human and humans require three square meals a day to function properly; warm clothes for winter; shoes. Five galleons, stretched, could keep him fed for a week. I will not risk that money being squandered on something foolish, no matter how low the chance of that may be, so I advise you cease with this stupidity.”

Stepping around him, Tom continued on his way.

“Oh, come off it Heartless. Take your sword out of your arse and live a little.”

“Your friend,” Tom snarled once he caught up with Remus, “is a moron.”

The other Claymore had no comment on the matter. Likely because, to some degree, Remus agreed with his statement.

Three more hours passed of walking, the only sounds being the clicking of their armored footsteps and the twittering of birds, then the silence was shattered by shouting.

“ _Help! Help me!_ ” Tearing around the base of a jagged cliff face which reared up from the forest’s trees came a man, wide eyed and dirty, dressed in thorn-torn clothing. Catching sight of them, he bolted in their direction. “Oh thank God! Claymore! You have to help me; there’s a monster! I’m being cha-!”

Tom grabbed the hilt of his sword and swung, the blade whistling passed where the man had been standing just seconds before. Ignoring the alarm of the others as the _thing_ leapt out of the strike’s range. Scaling the bluff-face half way before turning to face them. Shifting form. A twisted amalgam of arachnid and man with skin like armor plating unfurled before their eyes; it clung to the stone with four of its eight, taloned limbs; a tail, segmented and venomous, rearing up and over its form in a threatening arch.

“Clever, Claymore.” Its voice was chitinous and sharp, slitted yellow eyes narrowed in a glare. “And quick on your toes. You’re better than I expected. Better than the last one they sent after me, some years ago now. And here I’d been hoping for an easy meal.”

“Hate to disappoint you, beast,” Tom snarled, feeling the full attention of his other half shift at last to the matter at hand, “but you’ve already had your _last_ meal.”

He lunged and swung his sword. The blade sang as it sliced through the air, biting deep into the stone and lodging there. Tom barely had the chance to process the fact that the thing had moved before the solid collision of a limb against his back sent him flying into a nearby tree. The impact of his body snapped the trunk in half like a twig and it fell to the ground with an echoing thud. Stunned for a handful of seconds, the breath knocked out of him and chest aching from the shock to his lungs, Tom pushed himself up onto his wobbling arms and tried to shout a warning but choked on his tongue. Saliva and blood spilling over his lips. He gasped, twice, and finally regained enough air to shout _“that’s not a 27, that’s a 2!_ ” but by then it was already too late.

Sirius and Remus had already pounced and by the time his warning reached them there wasn’t much hope of changing directions. The beast’s tongue shot out in a blur of dark pink, sharp and plated like the rest of him, and caught Sirius in the shoulder. Blood splattered the stone and the other Claymore’s body cut a furrow in the earth when he landed. Alighting on a stone out cropping Remus made an effort to retreat but wasn’t fast enough; the Awakened flashed behind him and delivered a brutal slash which sent him plummeting to the ground with a crash.

 _Idiots! Even if they were still under the impression that it was a 27 neither of them are in the single digits! They shouldn’t have gone charging in as if they were! Especially after seeing me be thrown aside like a child’s doll!_ Slowly, body still reeling from the impact, Tom pushed himself onto all fours. _I’m going to have to conduct myself with caution here; I’ve never faced anything beyond a 5, but to my knowledge, even for a Number One, Awakened Ranks 4 and above are difficult to take down without the assistance of a Rank 3 or higher. The exponential gaps in power between individuals with ratings after 5 make it almost impossible. I may have reached the end: this might be the battle where I lose my grip._

“What’s the matter, Claymore? Weren’t you just telling me how I’d eaten my last meal?” Pointed legs clicked against stone as it dug its grip in tighter. “You look like you’re having trouble getting to your feet. Even with the gap in our power having been closed by my Awakened status one measly hit shouldn’t have left you teetering. Some Number One you are.”

“Shut up.” Remus had been given false information by his handler, though Tom had reason to suspect the handler hadn’t known. If Sirius had been told anything before being dispatched he hadn’t a clue as that had been the one thing the man _hadn’t_ talked about. Abraxas had only told him it was an Awakened Being, not its rank, but he did know that the handler of the highest ranked warrior in an assignment pool was the one responsible for building the teams their ‘monster’ would lead. It was standard protocol. And Malfoy would have known _exactly_ what he was going to be facing.

So why had he seen fit to put him into a situation where Awakening himself was almost a certainty? Hell, why did he do half of what he did? It wasn’t something the Order would have wanted which meant he was acting on his own accord. But to what end remained in question.

“Oh, it still has quite a mouth on it I see.” The Awakened hissed. He needed to get the other two out of harm’s way before he did anything else; if there was any chance that they could recover from their injuries and re-enter the battle on a supporting basis he needed to ensure it wasn’t stolen away. “I don’t see how you could be in any position to even think you have a right to take that tone with me, half-breed. All three of you will die here, and the more annoyed you make me the longer I’m going to drag things out!”

“If I were you I wouldn’t be so certain of outcomes.” Once more, Tom lunged.

“Charging into your death?” it snarled. “You Claymore dogs are all the same!” Raising the left arm of its third set of limbs its sharpened fingers rocketed forwards, piercing clear through his chest neck and forehead. With blood staining his hands from the deep cut along his back, Tom propped Remus against a fallen tree which rested near the base of the cliff, unscathed. “What?” The Awakened snarled, baring its teeth in fury. “What sorcery is it that you’re pulling, mongrel bastard? I hit you! I know I hit you!”

“Truly?” smirking simply for the sake of prodding the beast into a further rage, Tom raised his sword. “Why don’t you try again, monster? It may work this time.”

The segmented tongue shot out and wrapped around his neck in a crushing grip, only to have Tom’s image dissolve around it. The Claymore’s grieves clicked against stone as he deposited Sirius beside Remus, leaning against the trunk.

“An illusion!” It spat, the talons on its second set of limbs cutting deep furrows into the rock it clung to. “You’re moving out of the way at the last possible moment before impact and leaving an after image behind to distract me! Clever. You certainly have the speed of a single digit.”

“You’ll soon find I’ve more than the speed; I’ll gladly play with you a while, but in the end I’ll come out having taken your head.” He said. “You two, stay out of my way if you can’t be of help. Don’t attempt to assist me unless you see a blatant opening, you’re not at proper Rank to face off with something like this and I haven’t the focus to spare babysitting as well!”

Cloak snapping behind him like a silver tail Tom flashed forward, dipping beneath the Awakened’s swing and cutting away its arm at the first joint. No sooner had his blade parted flesh and bone did it, much like a liquid might resume its shape once disturbed, reattach. A webbing of veins and thick violet blood forming in the blade’s wake and gluing the limb solidly back into place.

 _Bloody hell, of course the damned thing had to be a Defensive type!_ Dodging the full brunt of another attack only narrowly, feeling the sharp burn of talons drawing blood along his side, Tom pivoted on the ball of his foot and swung at the Awakened’s plated underbelly.

The beast leapt skyward and out of reach, the point of his sword whistling just shy of contact with its body. Its tail rocketed forward, breaking the stone where he’d stood. Splinters of rock lodged beneath his left spaulder, staining his uniform with more deep crimson. He skidded to a stop and dropped onto his haunches, panting.

The monster landed not far away, its tail curling back into a striking pose. “What are you fiddling around for?” it growled, licking his blood from its claws. “If you think you’re going to be able to defeat me without even charging the color of your eyes you’re an arrogant little shite that’s got another thing coming!”

Wounds screaming, Tom closed the distance between them before the thing could finish. Landing neatly on its back and swinging at its exposed neck only to have the blow glance off its thick hide. Pure luck and swift reaction time spared him from being impaled on the venomous barb on its tail.

 _I don’t have a choice._ His knees almost gave out when his feet hit the ground, the tear along his ribs ripping wider and splattering the stone-studded earth with blood. _If I Awaken I may never see Sparkling again, but if I die here that’s a certainty. Holding out any longer isn’t an option. I’ll have to risk it._ Tom steeled himself and reached for where his Dark Aura lay coiled like a serpent at the base of his spine only to have his Inferus leap at him with its teeth on full display.

With no hint of yellow in between his eyes went straight from silver to crimson. The monstrous hunger from that terrible nightmare roared up inside him like the plume of an inferno. Power, heady and toxic, flooded his veins as his wounds sealed shut and his skin grew tight, the temperature plummeting as ice spread in a thin layer across the ground. The sounds of alarm from the other two barely registered as he sailed forward so quickly his vision blurred; sword cutting through solid plate with ease; the Awakened’s body crumpling as its head fell to the stones.

Tom collapsed as soon as he landed; legs too busy attempting to fuse themselves together to bother with supporting his weight. Hands splaying clawed fingers across the ground; fang-studded mouths opening across his palms like deep gashes, spilling forked tongues out onto the dusted bloody ground. Teeth sharpening; canines elongating into hollow crescents, beading venom at their tips that tasted bitter and sharp against his splitting tongue. _Want to rip! What to tear! Want to eat! Flesh and blood; hearts and entrails; delicious!_ Familiar eyes, lifeless and drained of color, staring fixedly out at him from a fear-stricken death mask. _Harry!_

His other half hissed, releasing its coils and retreating; the waves of disorienting power battering his form abated; that terrible hunger died down. When he opened his eyes he was flat on the ground, a pair of blades crossed against his neck.

“Beheading me now would be a bit premature.” He grumbled, cautious not to move too much lest he do himself damage. “Some fine thanks for saving your hides this is.”

After exchanging a look, Sirius and Remus reluctantly removed their swords from his skin and allowed him to sit up.

“Have you any idea how close you came to Awakening?” that tone was just stern enough to rub him the wrong way.

“A better idea than you do, Lupin, I can assure you of that.” Tom pushed himself up onto his feet. “And I don’t quite think I’m fully back to rights: I’m starving.” Catching sight of the other warrior’s side-eye he grinned and watched the blood drain from his face. “What’s the matter, Black? You look a bit spooked.”

“Spooked?” Sirius glared at him. “Don’t act like we overreacted; the last thing we needed after _that_ was to have a newborn Abyssal on our hands! Certainly not one with your personality on it!”

“I should think not; frankly, I’m surprised the pair of you can stand in your state.” Tom replied with a snort. “Well, if we’re done here I’m going to take my ‘personality’ and head back to Holyhead.” He said. “I’ve no compunction towards lying but even still I hesitate to call it a pleasure.”

Ignoring the spluttered response of the other warrior ringing out behind him, Tom returned his sword to its proper position slung across his back and walked away into the trees.


	17. Heart and Wings

Tired of cavorting amidst the festival being held in Holyhead Harry had left the village behind an hour before for the rock which sat just on the outskirts, his mind heavy with thoughts spawned from the information which Abraxas had given him. The fact that all Claymores would, inevitably, Awaken; would become predators, if not monsters, and join the ranks of the creatures they’d fought with and presumably hated for at least their time as warriors if not throughout the whole of their lives. That Tom, eventually, would become one himself: an Abyssal; a beast of legendary, mythical proportions. He wanted to believe that it wouldn’t truly change him, that it wouldn’t void the feelings that Tom had for him, but a part of Harry knew that either way he’d be flirting quite literally with death. One misstep, one slip up, would be all it took and he’d be dead. Not that that wasn’t the case now, at least to a lesser degree.

And then there was the matter of the other piece of information that Tom’s handler had dropped into his lap. That he was being held as ransom by the Order of the Phoenix; his death being hung over Tom’s head in order to keep him in line. Harry wasn’t quite certain how he was supposed to feel about the matter; countless emotions were boiling inside him and it was hard to pick just one. Disgust that the Order would publically present themselves as an organization for good while they were doing such terrible things when the general public wasn’t looking. Horror that he was being used as both a stick and carrot to keep the man he loved obedient to the Masters who’d kept him so cruelly enslaved. Fear for the inevitable occurrence where Tom’s pride and nature simply wouldn’t allow him to grin and bear commands any longer; for the battle that would break out in his defense and the very real possibility that Tom would be wounded and he, Harry, would be killed.

Why hadn’t Tom told him?

Pulling his knees up to his chest Harry leaned his forehead against them and closed his eyes. Shivering slightly in the spot of sunlight which was just warm enough to verge on comfortable. Listening to the wind hiss and sigh around him and the birds which yet remained in the northern Province despite winter’s teeth twitter and flap as they hopped about on the branches overhead or through the carpet of dried golden needles which covered the ground.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, sitting like that for who knew how long, because he woke to the familiar metallic _tap-tap-tap_ of Tom’s grieves against the hard soil and the gentle rocking motion of the Claymore’s even gait. The raven was cradled against his chest, his cheek resting against the crook of his shoulder and with one of the warrior’s arms each beneath his back and the joint of his knees. Tom looked a bit worse-for-where, bruises yellowed near to vanishing along his jaw and with sap and twigs marring his usually perfect argent comb over and his torn uniform stained rust red with dried blood. The confrontation with the Awakened Being he’d been sent to kill had clearly put up quite the fight but that didn’t matter. Tom was back, and when he looked down at him his face settled into an expression of warmth. A familiar purr rumbled in his chest as he bent to nuzzle his cheek.

It was that action of wordless affection which dropped everything into place for the little wizard. Orphaned twice, abandoned by his village and subjected to the horror of witnessing a massacre Harry had gone through enough in his short sixteen years of life without the Claymore adding more to his worries. He hadn’t told Harry because Awakened Beings and the Order’s threat weren’t concerns with which he had to bother; Tom would protect him from them like he’d protected him from everything else, so it was better not to frighten him with the information.

Harry decided, then, that he wouldn’t let the Claymore know that the sentiment-kind as it was-was unnecessary. Smiling, leaning his forehead against Tom’s, he reached up and wrapped his arms around the Claymore’s neck. “You’re back.” His voice was thick and caught slightly; apparently he’d been asleep for longer than he’d thought.

“We found the target relatively quickly. I didn’t bother remaining in the area a moment beyond the time that I was needed; not when the other option was so much more appealing.”

Harry hummed in response, fiddling with the tight curls at the elder’s nape with his fingers. “And what option would that be?”

“Coming back here. To you.” He shifted the raven’s weight in his arms and turned towards the inn. “Though I’ll admit to being relieved, if incredibly surprise, that you’ve managed to keep your nose clean during the time I was away, Sparkling.”

Harry’s face flared a brilliant red. “It was only two days, Tom!” He whined.

The Claymore smirked at him in response. “Plenty of time for the likes of you to dig up trouble.” The fondness with which he spoke was just enough to soften Harry’s glare, but it didn’t stop him from pouting. He would have crossed his arms too but that would have required him to release his grip on Tom and expressing his displeasure wasn’t worth such drastic action. “Are you mad at me for saying that?”

He sniffed. “Maybe.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Harry.” The little wizard made a rude sound with his lips. Tom snorted as he ducked through the doorway of the inn where they’d been staying. “What a poorly mannered little monster you are. If you’re not careful I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.”

The blush returned full force, painting the raven’s cheeks a pretty pink in the dim light of the creaking staircase, and Harry spluttered briefly before he managed to regain enough control over his tongue to squeak out “with wording like that, Mr. Big Scary Top Ranked Claymore, someone overhearing might mistake your intentions to be less than disciplinary.”

“Would you be opposed to that, Sparkling? You did all but lay yourself out on a silver platter for me outside of Ballycastle.”

Frowning again, Harry removed one of his hands from Tom’s curls to lightly smack his chest; the blow did nothing and the Claymore let out an amused snort. “I love you. And I want to be with you. But we both know that isn’t possible.”

The trilling sound he produced sounded uncertain. “Perhaps.”

Whatever that meant. Harry rested his head back against his shoulder as they reached the top step. “You stink.”

“And you constantly insist that _I’m_ the rude one.” Tom said. “What do I smell like?”

“Dirt blood and pine sap.”

“Is that a good combination or a bad combination?”

“Let’s put it this way: it’s not going to be sought after for perfumed oils.” Harry made an exaggerated show of pinching his nose. “You smell much better without it.”

“So you prefer the scent of sarcasm and Inferus blood, do you?” shouldering open the door, Tom crossed the room and dropped Harry gently onto the bed. “You’re a man of interesting tastes, Mr. Potter.”

“You pronounced ‘discerning’ wrong.” He shot back with a smirk, rolling his eyes. “I am, after all, very much into you. Seems like just the sort of interest you’d be fully in support of.” Shaking his head, Tom perched beside him on the edge of the bed. “You’re going to bathe once the innkeeper brings up fresh water?”

“I will.” He said. “After I’ve eaten.”

“Eaten? But you had that cake just over two days ago. You can’t possibly be hungry already.”

For a moment so brief Harry couldn’t be certain it had even happened an expression of what might have been discomfort passed across Tom’s face before he said “my appetite might have gotten a little bigger.”

The raven stiffened slightly. His appetite had gotten bigger? Was that possible for a Claymore; a being which survived on the bare extremes of food and water intake; the exact opposite of the Inferus and their depthless hunger. Was this a warning sign? Abraxas hadn’t said anything about such a thing happening; he’d only mentioned… Harry’s eyes flickered swiftly up to Tom’s and away again. Still silver, with no signs of red to be found. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Are you feeling alright?”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Harry.” He said after a moment too long. “All it means is that I have more room for your wonderful cooking.”

That statement was clearly meant to placate him and it didn’t but Harry wasn’t certain what to say about the matter and before he could decide there was a knock on the door of their room and Tom got up to answer.

The innkeeper only remained outside for long enough to thrust the tray of food and pail of water into Tom’s hands before he scurried away down the dark hallway; the Claymore set the pail inside the bathroom door before he brought the tray over to the bed and sat back down.

Accepting his portion, holding the wooden plate in one hand and the fork in the other, Harry watched the other rip into his meal without another moment wasted. Were Tom human like him it wouldn’t have been a display which was in anyway notable but the difference it presented in comparison to the three dainty bites he’d seen him take the only other time he’d eaten in front of him was almost chilling. The little raven tried not to pay the two stripped chicken bones Tom left sitting on his plate undue attention and went back to eating himself.

“The thing you were sent to deal with seems like it was pretty strong.” He said, shoveling a forkful of stewed greens to his mouth. “It got you on the side; there’s blood on your uniform but it looks like your wounds are healed.”

“Our healing is naturally accelerated by the use of our Dark Aura; the more we use the faster our wounds heal but there’s a trade off in that each use of our Aura drags us closer to our inner monster.” Tom prodded, almost self-consciously, at the pair of bones. “We were given information which was less than accurate and our opponent was stronger than expected. I’ll admit to having had to use more of my power than I’d have liked.”

“You’re alright?” Finishing his own first piece of chicken, Harry set it aside.

“Really, Harry, you don’t need to worry about me.” Tom told him, reaching out a hand to run his fingers through the little raven’s hair. “Did you have fun at the festival that’s been going on?”

“Yes.” He had, truly, even with the knowledge Abraxas had seen fit to drop on him. “I tried a lot of different foods I’ve never seen before and played some games. They had dancing last night in one of the buildings; I was shite but it was fun.”

“Sounds like it.” Tom said. “Who did you dance with?” when the raven shot him a pointed look he chuckled. “I’m sure dancing alone got you some strange looks, huh?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t really care. I don’t know any of these people.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter either way; you’ll never see any of them again, more than likely, after we leave tomorrow morning.” Tom rose to his feet and said “I’m going to go clean up now, Sparkling. When you’ve finished your food put the tray out in the hall.”

“I will.” Harry said and watched the Claymore saunter towards the bathroom. Left to his own devices Harry finished up his meal and deposited the tray outside in the dark hallway before returning to the bed. Listening to the distant creaking of the floorboards, the sigh of wind outside and the splash of water as Tom washed up on the other side of the bathroom door.

The faint light seeping beneath it went out as Tom emerged from the bathtub and blew out the candle; the door creaked as it was pushed open again. Harry looked up and found Tom grinning back at him, heat in the tint of his eyes and the torn shirt of his uniform hanging from his hand. His bare chest was hairless and slightly damp, the furrowed claw marks running along his ribs and the stigma down his front a puckered shiny pink in the flickering glow of the stub of wax perched atop the bedside table in a tarnished holder.

He crossed the room with silent steps, dropping the ruined fabric to the floor as he went. The bed dipped beneath his weight as he crawled back onto it with the stance of a stalking predator.

“T-Tom?”

The other hummed in response, grin still on his lips and his gaze on Harry’s face. He prowled closer and those metallic eyes raked up and down his form in a way which at once left him flustered and confused.

“Tom?” he tried again, this time receiving a hushing sound in reply as the Claymore crawled atop him; the warmth of his body but none of its weight sinking into the smaller form below.

“Trust me?” they were chest to chest, Tom’s forehead resting against his, and Harry’s heart was pounding.

“Yes.” He didn’t think before answering. Didn’t have to. A purr of satisfaction rumbled through the other’s larger form and shook them both. “What are you doing?”

“Something I suspect that you’ll enjoy, though I’m afraid this is the most I can do without putting you in danger, Sparkling.” Warm hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt; calloused thin fingers tracing across the thin skin of his stomach and up over his chest. “Just lay back, love. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He knew that, but before he could tell him so Tom had silenced him with his mouth. Thin lips melding softly against his own; tongue requesting entry and then running rampant once it was granted, lapping lazily at his sensitive pallet and provoking his own into a stubborn duel. Hands meanwhile, wandered about as they pleased without resistance. Over his middle; up along his sides; pawing at the hardening buds they found there. Tom’s knee, at some point while Harry had been sufficiently distracted, had found its way between his legs. The gentle pressure enough to make him pant and whine against the other’s lips.

One of Tom’s hands slipped from under his shirt and slithered instead below the waistband of his pants, thin fingers delicately curled around his arousal. Pumping him with sharp motions of his wrist, swallowing his gasps and mewls as he rutted up against him in search of more friction. His entire body shuddering beneath the silken drag of skin on skin. A coil of heat forming in the pit of his stomach, coiling tighter until it finally snapped and left him lying boneless on the bed. Chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his rumpled crimson top sticking to his sweat soaked skin. He could only look on as Tom licked his hand cleaned.

“Where did that come from?”

The heat in his eyes had cooled to mischief as the Claymore looked down at him again. “Being so far away from you doesn’t sit well for me.” He said. “I suppose the experience left me a bit more touchy-feely than usual. Did you not enjoy it?”

“Are you crazy, Tom? That was bloody brilliant!” The other snorted in response. Green eyes, hazed and unfocused with afterglow, focused on the straining fabric and the flush of blood across his cheeks intensified. Shyly, he asked “what about you?”

“It’ll go down.” Lowering himself onto the mattress beside him, Tom rolled onto his back. “Relieving myself wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because sex is a carnal act and Inferus, by their very nature, are carnal creatures. And, so I’m told, the sensation of losing yourself to the monster inside is almost entirely identical to that of an orgasm. That’s why mutual sexual encounters with Claymore are dangerous, Sparkling. It’s easy to set off a change you can’t come back from.”

Harry sighed and rolled over, resting his head against the warm skin of Tom’s shoulder. After a brief pause, the other’s fingers found his hair again. “I’ll still love you when it happens. When you turn. Because you’ll still be you, at least in my eyes.” He said. “You know that, don’t you?”

A sigh hissed from between Tom’s teeth before he answered. “I know, Harry. I wish I could tell you the same but I don’t have the luxury of such certainty.”

A particularly strong gust of wind rattled the window in its pane. The sheets rustled as the little raven tugged them up to his chin. Just as Tom felt certain he hung on the edge of sleep Harry spoke again. “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“Thanked me?” he repeated. “For what?”

“For everything.” His throat closed up. Tears threatened. Harry had to take a moment to regain his composure before he spoke again. “No one’s ever loved me, before you. My parents were murdered by bandits when I was only a few years old. My relatives and the other villagers hated me because I was magical. I was surviving, not living, before you came and I hated every second of it.”

“That’s why you followed me.” Tom’s voice was quiet, as if he didn’t want to risk breaking the silence of the night around them; risk his words being heard through the walls. “Because you had nothing. Because you’d never had anything. And even though I took every presented chance to be cruel to you, I was the kindest anyone had ever been.” Lashes wet, Harry nodded against his neck. _Damn it all; the only way we could be more similar is if he’d been sold to the Order as well._

“I used to wish that I could leave, somehow. Used to dream about turning into a bird; sprouting wings and flying away to a better life. A better life anywhere else. That, I suppose, is what I have to thank you for the most. Thank you, Tom, for being my wings.”

Tom wrapped his arms around the smaller male’s waist and pulled him close, running gentle fingers along the hidden ridges of his spine. “If we’re into the business of dispensing ‘thank yous’ than I’ve one of my own to give you, Sparkling.” He said. “Thank you for being the heart I never knew I needed.”


	18. Over the Line

“Doing alright back there, Sparkling?”

Harry looked away from the little animal he’d been staring at with a start, realizing that while he’d been distracted by the spectacle of the tiny rodent shoving an impossible number of berries into its mouth Tom had continued walking and now stood a couple hundred feet away. With a final glance at the creature-which stared innocently back at him as it stuffed yet another scarlet berry into its mouth-the little wizard turned his back on it and hurried to catch up.

Tom, if anything, looked amused. “You’re certainly easily distracted at times.”

“Sorry.” He said. “It’s just that I’ve never seen an elastic-face tree-rat before: they don’t live in Gryffindor Province.”

“Elastic-face tree rat?” the Claymore attempted, and succeeded only marginally, in covering up his amusement with a cough. “You mean chipmunks?”

“Is that what they’re really called?”

Tom nodded, starting forward along the path again. “Yes. Chipmunks not ‘Elastic-face tree-rats’. It’s a bit too much of a mouthful for most people and a little bit offensive to the animals.”

“And we wouldn’t want them to take offense, would we?” he snorted.

“Careful, Sparkling. Tiny things can be quite stubborn and dangerous when they’re pushed to; I know from experience the truth of that fact.” Tom said. “There’s this little raven haired wizard, you see, and he follows me around no matter how I try to get rid of him-.”

“ _Tom_!” He whined, pouting when the Claymore laughed at him and reached out to ruffle his hair leaving the raven strands in even more of a disarray than usual. With no one around for miles to see them, Harry just left the state of things untouched.

“You do know what a squirrel is, right?”

Sticking his tongue out at the now almost uncontrollably snickering Claymore, the raven sped his pace and pulled ahead of him.

Eventually the chuckling from behind him died out, the tapping of Tom’s grieves resuming. They were about another day’s travel from the border of the Hufflepuff and Avalon Provinces and the decreasing longitude, in conjunction with the pillars of pure sunlight slanting down through the trees left enough of the chill at bay to make travel verge on comfortable even without a thick traveling cloak to keep him warm. The air had the iron smell of cold, mingled with the richness of dark soil and the sharp slightly chemical one of the sap which filled the surrounding trees. After about two hours time the ambient sounds of the forest-singing birds and rustling undergrowth and the gentle creaking of the sky-piercing trees-was joined by the roaring of a river. The trees parted not long after, revealing the gentle slope of a muddy bank and the frothing rapids of the rushing water.

“It’ll be sunset soon.” Tom tapped to a stop at the crest of the bank beside him and leaned his shoulder against the trunk of a tree. “We’ll make camp here for the night and will move on into Avalon Province in the morning. Help me gather the wood for a fire, Sparkling.”

“We’re making camp here? Isn’t the ground a little wet; are you sure that we’ll be able to keep a fire going?”

Tom looked down at the ground, tested it with the tip of his grieves and huffed. “You’re right; it’s a bit damp here. Better not to risk it.” He said. “We’ll move down onto the gravel; close to the water or not, it’ll be dryer there.”

“I’ll set the bag down and be right over.”

“Take your time.”

Sliding down the slanted bank and onto the gravel Harry pulled off the pack he’d been carrying and set it down before returning passed the tree-line.

Tom had a fistful of dry needles by the time Harry found him again; catching sight of Harry’s stare he held them up a bit higher and said “tinder.”

That made sense now that he actually stopped to think about it. “How much will we need?”

“This should be plenty.” The Claymore said, straightening up. “If we do wind up needing more something tells me there won’t be any type of worrisome shortages.”

Harry had little doubt of that. He did, however, wonder if the floppy knobby twigs littering the ground would actually burn. “If nothing else it’ll make for a fragrant fire.” He said, steadily gathering an armful of timber which clattered together as he moved. “I wonder if it’ll affect how dinner tastes; it’s pungent enough that there’ll definitely be a flavor left behind.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out. I’m not going to refuse to eat what you make simply because of a taste left behind by firewood.” Tom told him. “I’ll drag some fish out of that river for our dinner tonight.”

“Our dinner,” he repeated, sounding almost wistful. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you eating so often; one full meal a day is a big jump from three small mouthfuls of food and enough water to fill a clamshell every week. Are you sure that you’re not sick?”

“No, love.” Tom bent to kiss him briefly, pulling a pleased sound from Harry. “This should be enough wood for now. Let’s head back. With any luck, I’ll be able to catch those fish before nightfall.”

“I’ll set up the fire while you’re doing that.” The raven said, following on Tom’s heels as he exited the forest again.

The loose stone of the river bank crunched beneath their feet as they walked back to where Harry had left their pack sitting on the ground. Depositing the gathered wood and dried needles within the raven’s easy reach Tom removed his grieves, set them aside, rolled the legs of his pants up to his knees and then headed towards the water. Harry took the offered chance to examine the shapely cut of Tom’s calves and the almost delicate curve of his ankles before digging through the pack of supplies for the strike stone and setting it aside for later use.

Piling the dried needles into a neat stack Harry picked up the strike stone again and, shielding the sparks from the wind with his hand, started that night’s fire. Fanning the little embers into a small blaze and feeding branches into it at regular intervals the raven couldn’t help but wish he could control his magic if only for the sake of making starting cooking fires a simple matter of snapping his fingers.

Sitting back on his hands, he turned his gaze away from the merrily snapping fire and back to the river. The sun now hung on the edge of slipping out of sight, smoldering a deep orange and tinting the world around him in tints and shades of purples and blues. Tom was picking his way through the shallows with cautious steps, eyes on the rippling surface, like a great silver egret; a flash of scales and a rush of motion was swiftly followed by a fan of cold droplets flying through the air and the thud of a fish landing on the shore.

Getting up and stretching, Harry walked over to where the fish lay flopping helplessly against the ground. “Nice; you got one.” Crouching beside it, he selected a good sized rock and picked it up. “Looks like a trout.”

“One more to go.” Pulling his attention from the task at hand, Tom looked over in time to see him bring the rock down on the struggling fish; after a second strike it lay still. “It should only be a few more minutes, Sparkling; I can finish it off. Why don’t you get that one ready to be put on the fire?”

Dropping the now bloody stone back onto the ground with a thump Harry brushed off his hands and picked up the limp fish. “Alright, but try not to take too long, Tom. These won’t take long on the fire and overcooked fish is a nightmare.”

The Claymore wrenched another trout from the water only to have it wriggle from his grasp and escape with a splash. “Don’t worry about that.” He grumbled, the sound of Harry’s laughter echoing off the trees flanking the river on either side. “I’ll have the second one soon.”

That didn’t turn out to be entirely true. By the time Tom managed to get a second fish out of the river Harry had already scaled and gutted the first one before hanging it over the fire to cook and was absorbed in staring at something in one of his hands. It wasn’t until he came closer that Tom realized what it was.

“Harry, what are you playing around with intestines for?”

Harry started so badly that, much to Tom’s relief, he ended up flinging the things into the fire. Green eyes turned up towards him, tinted orange in the flickering glow, and the hand that wasn’t holding the small knife extended forwards; there was blood caked beneath his nails. “I’ll clean that fish and put it over the fire with the other one.”

“Harry-.”

Clearly whatever had driven him to fiddle with the things wasn’t something the little raven wanted to discuss, because he cut him off with “I’ll wash up after I’ve finished cleaning and scaling this fish, once I get back the first one should be done,” in a tone which was almost sharp. The trout’s scales were soon added to the little pile which had formed beside him and, this time, the fish’s innards went immediately into the fire. He retained his silence on the matter even after returning from cleaning up.   
Tom decided, with reluctance, not to push him.

“Is it good?”

The Claymore looked up from pulling a rib from between his teeth. “I find myself less than sweet on fish. And I can see what you meant about the pine.” He said. “Still, yes. It’s good.” He flicker the bone away into the darkness.

Harry smiled and went back to eating. The fire crackled and spat sparks into the air. The amber points of light quickly winked out against the stars. “Is your handler going to bring you a new uniform soon?”

Abraxas. That was a topic Tom didn’t want to talk about. “Tonight, I’d expect.” There was a growl in his tone. Harry hid a smirk behind his half-eaten trout. “Which is a bloody good thing because I have questions for the bell end.”

“Questions?” Harry repeated. “Like what?”

“Nothing for you to worry over. I don’t know quite what to think of it myself; I may be the one with the reputation for being disobedient but he’s near as bad as I am.” Tom tossed the cleaned skeleton into the fire. Not long after, having eaten all he could, Harry followed suit; licking his fingers and grinning at the older male as he stared. “You’re retiring?”

Harry nodded. “I am.” He said. “You’ll be heading out to meet your handler?”

“Once you’ve fallen asleep.” Tom said. “And I won’t be going far. Why do you ask?”

“Pillow choice! If you were leaving now I’d have to use my pack but now I can use your lap.” And, promptly after making this statement, the little raven did just that.

Tom huffed in an effort at sounding annoyed but only ended up sounding amused; settling more comfortably against his sword and resuming what had by now become a habit of petting Harry’s hair. The stars grew brighter as the night grew late and the fire dimmed, popping and crackling as it began to burn low. Once certain the little raven was deeply enough asleep that being shifted wouldn’t disturb him he moved Harry off of his lap and headed back into the tree-line.

“I was starting to think that you were going to leave me out in the cold.” Abraxas looked up from the stump he’d been sitting on, pale eyes glinting in the dim starlight. “You’ve kept me waiting, Voldemort. I’d thought you’d want your new uniform sooner.”

Tom caught it when the blonde tossed the clothing to him, immediately changing out of his torn and bloodied uniform without bothering to turn his back on the other male. “What the bloody hell were you thinking, Malfoy?”

Infuriatingly, all his handler did was play innocent. “I’m not certain what you mean.”

“The Awakened Being.” He growled. “The Number 2 you sent me after with only a Number 33 and 22 to back me.”

“Number 2?” he repeated. “I wasn’t aware of the fact that the Awakened you were sent to dispatch was anything other than-.”

“Spare me the bullshit, Abraxas!” He snarled, stepping forward to loom over the still seated man. To his incredibly annoyance Abraxas didn’t even flinch. “You know what I think?”

Grey eyes blinked placidly back at him. “What do you think, Voldemort?”

“I think that you, for whatever reason, want me to Awaken. You _want_ a new Abyssal.”

“The Order of the Phoenix wouldn’t be able to handle a fifth-.”

“ _Bugger the Order of the Phoenix! What are you playing at, Malfoy?”_

“Nothing. As I’ve already told you.” But the fox smile on his face said otherwise. In the back of his throat, Tom growled. “I’ve another job for you. There’s a coven of Magicals near Tinworth which needs to be eradicated. There are about twenty members, a third of which are around the age of your little pet.”

“Children?”

“If you wish to consider them that, but most don’t. They’re not people.”

“Are they Dark?”

“No.”

Tom showed his teeth.” Have they at least killed people? One person? A small, fluffy, adorable and otherwise defenseless animal? Something?”

“If you’re looking for a way in which to justify what you do to the boy you won’t find one.” Abraxas said. “You’re a Claymore. A monster built to kill. Your purpose is to eradicate threats to normal good people, be they Inferus or Magicals. Your pet ought to know that; are you concerned he’ll leave you if he’s reminded of the truth?”

“Don’t talk about Sparkling and I as if you know a damn thing.” Tom spat, the hand gesture the blonde made failing to placate him. “What crime has this coven committed that they have to be destroyed?”

The look Abraxas sent him made it clear he felt that Tom had gone soft. “You know precisely what crime.”

“Existing?” Tom hissed.

“In a word.” Abraxas said. “You have your assignment. You’ll do it.”

“Bugger off.” He turned to walk away.

“Allow me to remind you, Voldemort, what’s on the line.”

“Bugger off Abraxas. And while you’re at it tell Dumbledore and Grindlewald that they can bloody bugger off as well.” Pausing just short of disappearing behind a tree, Tom looked back at him with glowing silver eyes. “And make sure you let Bellatrix and the others they plan on sending after Sparkling know that I’ll be waiting and they’d better be ready for a fight because they won’t be getting anywhere near him without first getting through me.”


	19. The Serpent King

“Did something happen last night? You seem a little…tense.”

Tom stepped back from the water’s edge, the wet gravel crunching beneath his shod feet. Harry stood not far behind him, examining his stiff stance with worry in his eyes. At their camp site a few yards further up the bank the fire had burned down to cold ashes; their bag of supplies sat off to one side where the little raven had spent a short portion of the night prior curled against it and Tom’s sword was still impaled in the loose ground.

“Abraxas brought me a job last night.” His voice was barely audible over the rush of the water behind him. Silver eyes watched the little wizard’s face, searching his features for reactions. “A coven of Magicals has been discovered in Tinworth, not far from here. I was expected to put them down.”

The skin around his eyes tightened as his face grew a few shades paler, but beyond that Harry’s only reaction was a weak smile. “We’re headed there, then?” he asked. “You don’t mind if I sit this one out, do you? I understand that this is what you do, but-.”

“I refused the job, Sparkling.”

Harry’s eyes widened, his face showing a brief flicker of fear. “What?”

“I refused the job.” Tom repeated. “It would have been different if they were dark or had harmed someone, if there was a reason for them to need to be culled, but the only crime they committed was existing as something ‘unnatural’ and Abraxas admitted as much. And I couldn’t do that to you; what would you think of me had I accepted? I told Abraxas to bugger off and to tell the Order’s leaders the same.”

“So…what?” the raven asked. “You’ve defied the Order?”

Tom stiffened, straightening up and narrowing his eyes. “When the bleeding hell did that bastard speak to you?” there was a growl in his voice but if it made the little wizard uncomfortable he did a good job of hiding it. “Harry-.”

“While you were out with the other two Claymore, in Holyhead.” He admitted. “It was right after you left; he sat at my table and said he wanted to warn me.”

“Warn you?” he repeated in a hiss. “And just what did he feel the need to warn you about, Sparkling?”

“He told me about what you were hunting, first. And…about the Abyssals. But…you’d already told me about the concept so it wasn’t really new information. I just didn’t know the proper name for it.” Cautious emerald eyes peered up at him. “And then…”

“And then?”

“He told me about the reason. That you were let off.”

Tom snarled so loud that a flock of crows took flight from a nearby tree. “Why didn’t you tell me, Harry?”

“Because…I didn’t see the need to bring it up.” Harry said. “It didn’t seem important and you clearly felt that it wasn’t necessary for me to know. I trust you to keep me safe and…I didn’t want to come off like I was accusing you of hiding things from me.”

The Claymore huffed, the anger abruptly leaving him, and stepped forward. Pulling the raven against him in an almost bone crushing embrace. “I understand. Don’t do it again.” Harry nodded in silent agreement. Tom propped his chin atop his head, glaring out at the forest behind him. “The next time I see Abraxas, I’m going to kill him.” After he’d extracted answers, of course. No matter how brutal he had to be.

“Am I in danger, Tom?”

“Yes.” He answered in a reluctant grumble, resisting the urge to hug the raven tighter for fear of snapping his spine. “The remaining four members of the Order’s top five will be after us. But I won’t let them hurt you, no matter what that means resorting to.”

Harry wound his arms around Tom’s neck and tucked his face against the taller male’s collarbone. “Even Awakening?”

“Even Awakening. But only if I don’t have another choice.” He said. “My other half wants to kill you as much as it wants…other things. And I hesitate to put you at so much risk.”

To Tom’s surprise the raven in his arms chuckled. “Since when has that been new?” he asked. “Ever since we first met a part of you has wanted to kill me; don’t lie. I used to be nothing but an annoyance after all.”

“Take things seriously, please.”

“I think this might be my coping mechanism.”

“Reckless petulance?”

“Sounds about right.”

Tom chuffed to cover his amusement and released him. “We should get out things together and set out. Our best defense is staying ahead of them.” Which would quickly prove to be a problem; Harry needed to sleep at least a few hours every day or so in order to keep functioning and, even worse, he now needed to eat regularly as well. Meat, preferably. Raw, if possible, though he hated to rob the raven of a chance to cook for them.

Harry scrambled dutifully across the gravel bank, pulling the pack of supplies onto his shoulders. “Who are Ranks 2 through 5,” he asked as Tom returned his blade to its proper place across his back. “Just so I know.”

Tom growled low in his throat, twitching. “Thousand Cuts Bellatrix, Rank 2; Minerva the Cat, Rank 3; Lycan Fenrir, Rank 4; and then there’s Crouch who never could quite manage to coin himself a proper title.” He said. “Now, let’s get going.”

“We’re crossing the river?” Harry chirped, falling into step beside him.

“There are enough stepping stones that you ought to be able to make it.” Tom said, smirking. “And if you fall I’ll fish you out again.”

“Well, if that’s the case I’ll make it a point to help the current along as much as possible.”

“Little shite.”

Harry laughed, smiling back at the frowning Claymore, and clambered up onto the first of a series of boulders scattered about throughout the river’s flood. It was slick and cold but he managed to balance atop it well enough even with the weight of the pack of supplies on his back. He leapt onto the second, then the third, slipped and caught himself just short of falling into the river. The spray kicked up, dampening his clothes and face.

“You alright, Sparkling?” Tom asked from his perch atop the boulder Harry had just jumped from.

“Yes; I slipped. I’m fine.” Hauling himself back atop the boulder and, with some difficulty getting to his feet Harry jumped onto the last one and then down onto the opposite bank. “No need to go swimming after all.” He said as Tom alighted on the bank beside him.

“To rescue you or to get wet?”

“Both.” Harry reached up and attempted to wring the water out of his hair. “It’s cold out here.”

“We’ll be out of the forest soon,” Tom said gently, watching him continue his efforts to squeeze out the water which had left his clothing damp. “We’ll be crossing a plain for the next couple days. The sun will dry you off.”

They didn’t have the time to start another fire and sit there while the little wizard had dried off. Hopefully they’d have enough luck on their side that an extra few hours wet and cold wouldn’t cause Harry to come down with an illness which would leave him miserable and could very well end up increasing in severity until it teetered dangerously on the brink of being fatal. No matter how powerful he was Tom couldn’t do any more than a mere human when it came to protecting his Sparkling from his own fragility.

It bothered him.

As they moved back into Avalon Province from Hufflepuff the air warmed as the intensity of the sunlight increased and the smell of pinesap and leaf litter was replaced with baked earth and dry grass. Harry turned his face up to the sun’s rays, feeling them warm his skin and dry his clothing. The dusty plains they were moving through and the smell they carried reminded the little raven too much of the Southern Province where he’d grown up. Gryffindor Province: a land of desert wastelands, anemic forests and parched moors. He wasn’t certain how that made him feel.

They made camp late that night and remained for only a few hours, just long enough for Harry to catch a bit of sleep before moving on at dawn. Incredibly tired and leaning heavily against Tom he watched the sun paint the sky in shades of pink and gold before the flaming orb at last decided to make its appearance. He was glad to see the first of many stands of trees; oaks and maples stretching towards central Avalon and the Holy City in one direction and the swampy morass of Slytherin Province in the other. Harry was able to dispense at last with all traces of the memories of the land which had never truly been a home to him.

They made camp twice more, cutting a meandering path first southward, and then along the Gryffindor border towards Slytherin in the west, then heading back north and finally south again. It was clear that Tom had no destination in mind, only that he wanted to remain as far from Ravenclaw Province as possible yet, for some reason, seemed oddly reluctant to breach the western Province’s border.

A bird trilled in the scraggly branches of a twisted tree the sound of it something Harry had never heard before.  The badly overgrown path they’d been traversing looked as if it’d gone unused for the better part of a decade. He toed at a vine which had draped itself over the path in a gnarled net of loops and knots, listening to it rattle across the rutted ground. An ant, uncovered by the act, made a mad rush for the safety of the undergrowth.

“Could we stop in a town soon? Even if only for an hour?” he looked up at Tom as the Claymore as he came to stand beside him. “I’m almost out of spices; my cooking will start getting bland soon other-wise.”

“Tutshill is a few hours walk north from here.” Tom said. “If we leave now we should be able to-.” The Claymore seized him and pulled the little raven close against his chest, snarling and baring his teeth. Glaring eyes set on the trees ahead of them. “Come out, all four of you! I know you’re there!”

“Ooh!” The voice was high pitched, tinted with a tone that could only be described as insane, and Harry flinched back against Tom. “So the big scary Voldemort has noticed us, has he? Is he angry? Going to protect his little Wizy-poo?” A woman stepped from the tree-line, her long pale hair falling about her face in matted ringlets and her silver eyes wide and crazed. Had it not been for the fact she was so clearly insane she might have been considered pretty.

“Bellatrix.” Tom growled, tugging Harry even closer. Folding his larger body around him; plainly in an effort to defend against sneak attacks from the side. “Where are the others?”

“Around.” This voice was harsh and hoarse; a hunched man emerged from the undergrowth to the right of the path, showing yellowed teeth which had been sharpened to points. Another man emerged from the opposite side, sending the first a look of wary disgust. “Pretty piece of meat you’ve got there. Nice, pale throat. Do you think your little pet will like my teeth?”

Harry whimpered. Tom’s growl was almost deafening.

“Enough, both of you.” A woman’s voice, stern and brokering no argument, issued from behind them. “We’re here to subdue Voldemort and put down the Magical he’s been keeping as a pet. Antagonizing him will only make our job more difficult.”

 _“I want it more difficult!”_ Bellatrix shrieked, her expression splitting into something demonic as she jumped up and down in place. “I _want_ him angry and fighting; I _want_ him going all out against us so I can _prove_ that I deserve to be Number One instead of Not-So-Heartless-After-All-Voldemort!” Her diatribe descended into peels of laughter which the sharp toothed man joined in on with harsh heckles, scraping at the yellowed points with a grimy nail.

“Minerva.” Clearly Tom didn’t feel comfortable turning his back on either of the laughing Claymore so all he did was turn his head slightly to glance over his shoulder. “You’re reasonable enough to know what’s good for you. Back off or none of you are walking out of this alive.”

“Your threats won’t have any affect. Powerful as you are there’s four of us and one of you; you can’t protect the boy and fight us off at the same time.” She said. “You ought to consider yourself lucky that we aren’t here to take you head as well after what you did in Foxwick.”

“You know?” his voice was tinged with surprise. “I was told the fact that they were bandits had been covered up.”

“Not completely,” was the tart reply. “Hand over the boy and this can all be over quickly. Attempting to resist will only make things more painful for both of you.”

“And if I decide not to then what?” Tom’s voice was deceptively pleasant. His grip grew incrementally tighter. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck rose. “You’ll take him from me by force?”

“To put things simply.”

Against the skin behind his ear, Harry felt Tom’s lips curl into a smirk. “I’m afraid both ends of that deal are, to say the least, not to my taste.” He said. “So Sparkling and I are going to have to bow out of this one.”

Harry didn’t know when or how it happened but the next thing he knew he was bundled in Tom’s arms and moving at such speed that he couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. There was nothing around him but Tom and a blur of color. Bellatrix’s shriek died behind them. A thrown Claymore hissed over Tom’s shoulder and felled a tree. Boulders scattered. Fallen trunks cracked. When they came to a stop it was as sudden as their start; Harry almost lost his footing when Tom pushed him towards a hanging curtain of vines.

“Run, Sparkling! I’ll lead them away!” Tom was gone before he could reply. Harry caught his feet and kept running, ducking underneath the curtain of vines and wading through a sea of ferns. Clambering over fallen logs and boulders. Heart in his throat as he struggled not to trip and fall. Worried for Tom. Unable to hear anything over his rushing blood and ragged breathing.

Fenrir leapt from the undergrowth in front of him, eyes glowing slit pupiled and gold. Harry shouted in alarm, his magic sparking to life in a plume of fire as he tripped backwards. Tumbling head over heels backwards down a short embankment and landing on his side. Scrambling onto his hands and knees, mud and fallen leaves plastered to his face and clothing, Harry kept running. Throat red raw and chest hurting from gasping. Fingertips hot and spitting sparks which smoldered against the muddy ground.

Hide. He needed to hide until Tom could come and save him. There wasn’t any chance he could take on a single digit Claymore alone with only accidental magic he couldn’t control.

A tree with a hole burrowed into its base was the answer to his prayers and Harry bolted towards it. Squeezing his small body into the rotten spongey cavity. Heaving chest pressed into tacky mud as he struggled to quiet his breathing. Shaking apart. His vision blurred with tears. The crunch of footsteps moved steadily towards his hiding place, followed by the vague flicker of a shadow across the hole’s opening. He clapped a hand over his mouth to contain a squeak of fear.

“Come out, come out wherever you are little red.” Fenrir’s cackle came from a place much too close for Harry’s liking. “That shirt you’re wearing makes it difficult to blend in with the brush so it’s really no use trying to hide.”

 _Tom._ Had he not realized Fenrir had broken away and gone after Harry? Was he being held up by the other three? Could he possibly have defeated? _Help me_.

“I know you’re nearby, boy. I can smell your fear. Hear your heart beating. Come out and make it easier on yourself.” He growled, pacing closer. “The more cooperative you are the less it’ll hurt when I bite out your throat!”

With nothing left to do Harry pressed further back against the trunk of the tree. Hoping Tom would appear in time. That Fenrir wouldn’t find him. Golden eyes appeared outside the hole, a brutal grin splitting his ferocious face. _“There_ you are!”

Harry’s efforts to kick a hole through the back of the rotting trunk failed. Fenrir reached in and seized him by the hair. He yelped, scrabbling at the leaf litter in a failed effort to find purchase, and was dragged from the relative safety of the hole. He felt his hands heat up again, sparks spewing from his fingertips, but Fenrir seized him by both his wrists with his free hand before he could act and growled in his face.

“I’m not going to have you shooting any more fire from those little hands of yours, red.” He said, hauling him forwards. “I’m sure Heartless would like to see you once more before you die.”

Harry’s best efforts to free himself were for nothing and he was dragged back through the forest. The clearing where they ended up was battle torn, ringed in by felled trees and broken boulders and with deep gouges rent into the earth. All four Claymore sported various injuries and Tom lay on his front, struggling to raise his head against Bellatrix foot planted on the back of his neck.

“Look what I found.” Fenrir forced the raven down onto his knees, yanking his arms behind his back and making him yelp in pain. Tom hissed, attempted to buck the other Claymore off and was pinned closer against the ground. “Seems you misplaced your wizard; I found him hiding in a hollow tree. Any last words for each other before you watch your little pet drown in his own blood?”

“Let’s start with the boy.” Bellatrix’s bulging silver eyes focused in on him. “What does he have to say?”

“Sparkling-.”

“ _Shut up, Heartless!”_ Tom hissed again, this time in pain, when her foot came down on the back of his head. “Wait your turn!”

“I love you.” Emerald eyes, over bright with tears, met resigned silver ones. “I love you and it doesn’t matter what you are.”

“Touching.” Barty drawled.

“And what does ickle Voldy have to say?”

Tom raised his head as far as he could, looking him dead in the eye, and said “hide.”

A massive explosion went off a moment later, sending Harry and the four Claymore flying with shouts of alarm. The raven landed on his back with a thud, the impact knocking the breath out of him; gaining it back was almost impossible with how thick and cold the air had become. It felt like a boulder was sitting on his face. Ice crawled across the ground, clinging to the fabric of his clothing and frosting his lashes. The power in the air was like a physical presence and Harry had to fight against it in order to move; it was all he could do to crawl the last few feet to a stand of fallen trees, the sounds of breaking, rearranging bone and ripping skin ringing out behind him. He pulled himself up and over the first trunk and peered cautiously back in the direction he’d come from his new position of perceived safety.

The power eddied and swirled a final time before dying down, revealing the titanic creature now standing at the clearing’s center; the creak of joints and muscle echoed through the trees as it straightened to its full height, massive shoulders rising and falling again as it let out a threatening hiss.

Mahogany curls crowned Tom’s head; the only changed features in his face the ruby eyes and sword length fangs curving down over pale lips. Long fingers ended in ripping claws which dripped acid from the fanged, drooling mouths embedded in his palms. At his waistline the upper torso of a man transitioned into the powerful trunk of a serpent,armored in emerald scales the size of platters and finished in a ruff of knife-like spines which clattered together with a menacing rattle.

“Let’s get out of here!” Barty’s sword hit the ground with a heavy thud as he stumbled back, horrified. “That’s an Abyssal! The Order can’t expect us to be able to do anything against a monster like him!”

“Get out of here?” it was still recognizable as Tom’s voice but hearing the hiss which lay beneath it sent a shiver of fear down his spine. The new Abyssal swung around, rearing up on its serpent body and towering high above the tree tops. “None of you are going anywhere.”

Fingers extended in a flash of color. Claws hitting the ground with enough force to shake the earth. The four Claymore scattered. Tom’s tail swung around with a low _whoom,_ connecting with a meaty thump and flinging the unlucky warrior aside with enough force to leave a six foot crater in the ground.

Barty attempted to dart away but Tom spun around and seized him in a massive fist. The fanged maw in his palm bit him in half in the blink of an eye.

Fenrir’s sword sparked against the plate-like scales but failed to draw blood. Before he could move out of range the powerful coils wrapped around him and squeezed. Bones cracked and the wolfish man went limp.

Bellatrix bounded off the flashing coils with a harpy shriek and swung. Violet blood splattered her blade as it cut a shallow notch along his jaw. Tom reared back further with a murderous hiss, bared his fangs and sprayed the hag down with caustic venom.

With the final threat dispatched the towering Abyssal turned his full attention onto Harry, red eyes landing on his small form without trouble despite his best efforts to stay out of sight, and instinctual terror flooded him.  Unable to help himself the little raven ducked down in fear ad tucked himself close against the moldering trunk.

The rotting wood protested as it dipped below the other’s weight, the dried leaves beneath it crackling underfoot. Cautiously, as if its owner feared hurting him, a warm hand rested on his shoulder; stroking down along the curve of his back. He raised his head and met black eyes; Tom observed him with concern as he bent over him, absent even a single stich of clothing. Too shaken up to properly react, Harry flung his arms around him and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

Tom stiffened beneath his grip, leaning back, his hands finding the raven’s hips in an effort to gently push him away. “Sparkling, no. I’m sorry but I can’t trust myself having you this close.”

Reluctant, trying to keep the frown off his face, Harry allowed himself to be pushed away. “Your hair is dark.” He said, resisting the urge to reach up and run his fingers through Tom’s curls. “And your eyes. Is this what you used to look like, before…?” his eyes fell on where the brunet’s stigma had once been.

“Yes.” Tom’s voice was tense; he seemed to be holding himself back as well, though whether it was from pulling him closer or ripping him open Harry couldn’t tell. The little raven tried not to let his eyes wander any further south that the other’s waist; to the merits of his having Awakened, Tom no longer looked unnaturally waifish for his strength. The chiseled muscles were one change the little raven could certainly get behind.

Pity that he couldn’t touch.

Hopefully, once Tom had gotten a bit more comfortable with his new body, or perhaps after he’d eaten, that would change. Otherwise Harry was going to have to take drastic action and take things into his own hands; proving to Tom he could control himself despite the changes by forcing him into a situation where he didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re alright?” Tom asked, the depths of his black eyes warm with concern.

“Cuts and bruises. I’m ok.” Harry told him, eyes straying a bit too far downwards and lighting his face up bright red. “So, um…clothes?”

“Clothes?” Tom glanced down at himself, suddenly seemed to realize the fact that he was in fact standing there starkers, and then nodded. “Yes.” He said. “Four hours to Tutshill. We’ll…we’ll be able to find something suitable there.”


	20. A Monster's Torment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a filler chapter but its setting things up, to some degree, for the next one.

If death by embarrassment was possible, the little raven was certain he’d be six feet under many times over by now. The newly Awakened Claymore would alternate, on a pattern of about every twenty minutes, between walking behind Harry in an effort to spare some decency and, once he could no longer trust himself to have his sights on the wizard, walking in front of him. Always maintaining a distance of about five yards no matter what Harry did to close the gap. At least he’d finally gotten the unobstructed view he’d been hoping to.

Tom really did have a nice arse.

And then there was the back muscles.

Any chance for him holding onto patience was near as good as gone.

Harry had about as much trouble as Tom deciding what position was better: if the former Claymore was behind him he could scrape up the remaining scraps of his restraint and attempt to tie them together into at least a few days leeway to allow Tom to get comfortable enough to allow him closer but if he was walking in front of him then he could stare at him.

“Tutshill is just over this next rise.” Tom called, glancing back over his shoulder at Harry. “You’ll have to go into town on your own, Sparkling. I can’t just walk into the middle of a populated area without a shred of clothing on and I don’t trust my control around so many humans just yet. You have the money in the supply pack?”

The little raven nodded, taking advantage of the fact that Tom had stopped to close the distance between them. He only made it a few steps before the brunet retreated. Harry frowned.

“I’ll wait here.” He said, a flash of mild guilt flitting across his face as he again retreated from the little wizard’s efforts to come closer. “Take all the time you need. Get the spices you wanted as well, along with anything else you’d like. Don’t get into trouble.”

“You act like every time I’m out of your sight something terrible is bound to happen.”

Tom raised a sculpted eyebrow. “How many times have I let out of my sight and _not_ had something bad happen?”

“Once.”

“And when was that?”

“Holyhead.”

“You talked to Abraxas in Holyhead, Harry! I wouldn’t exactly call that keeping out of trouble.”

Harry crossed his arms and pouted, his lower lip jutting out. Tom rocked backward on his heels, obviously struggling to remain at the distance from him that he was. “Fine. I’ll be careful, Mum. I promise.”

Tom rolled his eyes. The little raven smirked at him and started off towards town. It wasn’t until he actually reached Tutshill that he realized he’d made a bit of an oversight.

Exactly what size was Tom, especially now that he had defined-if lean-musculature? The older male definitely wore larger clothing than Harry did, he knew that much, but ‘larger’ could mean anything and it wasn’t exactly a helpful observation.  Hopefully he at least got close. Verging large would be preferable over verging small; less likely to rip with sudden movements that way. Not that he had any illusions about that fact doing much of anything to ultimately save the clothing from its fate of being ruined. Especially now that Tom could grow to around twenty meters in size at will. It would probably be smart of him to purchase more than one outfit, just to delay the eventual need to visit another town and buy more.

The rattling of wooden cart wheels reached Harry’s ears as he trotted down the last few feet of the wooded hill, emerging from a thick hedgerow just in time to catch sight of an approaching horse-drawn wagon. A large man with a thick wiry beard and beetle black eyes sat at the front and pulled to a stop when he caught sight of him.

“’Ello there; did yer parents leave you all alone out ‘ere?”

“Uh, no sir. I’m actually a good deal older than I look.” Harry said, pulling a smile onto his face. “Sixteen.”

“Still a bit young ta be alone out ‘ere.”

“I’m not alone; my companion is a bit further back up that hill.” He said. “He doesn’t feel up to coming with me into town; a recent incident led to…clothing problems. I’m headed into town to buy replacements.”

“Well then, we’re both headed in tha same direction.” He said, gesturing for Harry to climb up into the empty seat beside him with a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Climb aboard. Tha name’s ‘agrid.”

“Harry.” Harry said, smiling and pulling himself up onto the cart. “Thanks.”

“Na a problem. I’ll let you out outside the tailor’s.”

The rhythmic clatter of hooves and wooden wheels resumed with the snap of reigns. A cloud of pale dust rose up in the wake of the cart and the wind sent it billowing across the rutted dirt road. Ahead, Tutshill grew progressively closer until they were jouncing through the streets. Little, evenly placed houses lined the clean cobbled streets; in the center of the square a fountain in the shape of the twin Goddesses trickled water into a glittering pool. The market district was a mix of stores and outdoor stalls and Hagrid, as promised, pulled to a stop outside of the tailor’s shop, bidding the little raven a bright farewell as he ducked into the building.

The small store smelled of wood smoke, wool and fabric dye. A young woman with long white blonde hair greeted him in a heavy accent Harry had never heard before. He puttered around the shop for a while before selecting three outfits, each of increasing size, and paying.

Hopefully, at least one of them would offer Tom a suitable fit.

With that done and the clothing safely tucked away in his bag Harry made a final brief stop by the spice merchant’s stall before heading back out of town.

The brunet was reclined against the trunk of a tree when he returned to their meeting spot, one knee drawn up to his chest and his head turned to look down the opposite slope of the hill. At the sound of his approach, leaves crunching beneath Harry’s feet, Tom looked up and then stood.

“You made it there and back alright, Sparkling?” he asked as Harry dropped the bag of supplies at his feet and rummaged through it for the first outfit. “No troubles.”

“No. I got a ride in actually, so that cut down on a bit of the travel time.” He said, straightening up again and holding out the shirt and pants. “I wasn’t sure on your size, so…this might fit?”

“Better than being starkers.” He said, taking the clothes with a smirk. “I’ve noticed these past few hours that you’ve regained your little habit of eyeing me up like a slab of meat.”

“Never lost it.” Harry chirped, snickering as Tom pulled the pants into place. “Does it fit?”

“Suitably.” He said. “Could go a bit bigger though. I hope you’ve had your fill of my arse.”

“Pants don’t make it disappear.” This comment pulled a snort of surprise out of Tom as he pulled on his shirt. “I have two others that are a little bigger. If you want to put them on instead.”

“That won’t be necessary Sparkling.” He said, reaching up to correct the state of his curls. “You got what you needed while you were in Tutshill?”

“We’ll be good for a while now with spices.” Harry told him. A moment later his expression fell. “You won’t be eating my food anymore, will you? As an Awakened you eat…”

Tom’s expression twitched. “’Not hungry’ isn’t something I’m capable of, Sparkling. I’ll be more than happy to supplement my other…meals with your cooking.”

Clearly they were both uncomfortable with the topic of the former Claymore’s newfound taste for human entrails. The brunet cleared his throat and smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the front of his shirt.

“Shall we continue, Harry?”

“Y-Yeah.” Harry said, falling into step behind Tom. “Let’s continue.”

Though precisely where they were going it was evident that neither knew.

Three days passed in a suspended sort of anticipation, Harry waiting for Tom to allow him within five feet of him and Tom continuing to wrestle with his hunger. Now, on the forth night, Harry was sick of waiting for the other man to act; it was time he took matters into his own hands as he’d resolved to days ago.

The fire guttered between them, flickering down to little more than embers; its orange glow reflected in Tom’s black eyes. The former Claymore lay curled up five feet back from the fire. Harry was cuddled up against the supply bag, his head resting atop it and a little cushion of fallen leaves built up below him. The brunet didn’t outwardly react when he sat up or stood, but looked over when he started to approach.

“Sparkling-.”

“Don’t.” He said, continuing to draw closer around the fire. “I’m not going to let you just push me away, Tom. Even if you think that it’s for my safety. I’ve given you time to get comfortable enough in your new body that you might trust yourself around me, but clearly that’s not going to happen on your own. So I’ll have to push you to it.”

“Harry, no.”

“You’ve never hurt me before.”

“That was _before_.” Tom’s eyes were wide. His body had tensed and coiled down; he looked ready to flee or pounce at any moment. Harry would just have to catch him before he did. “This is now; I can barely control myself with you out of reach. I understand that you’ve gotten used to being close to me and that you’re a bit clingy by nature and perhaps that you feel like I’m ignoring you but consider for a moment how I would feel if I _killed you_.”

“You’re not going to kill me.”

Two feet of distance was now all that separated them. Distress in his expression, Tom let out a disbelieving snort. “And what makes you so certain of that? I’m a monster, Harry.”

“I don’t believe that.” Harry said.

“What would you call me then?”

“A predator. Not a monster. There’s a difference; you’re only doing what’s natural.”

“Which is precisely why I don’t want you near me until I’m certain I can control myself.” Tom said, a desperate tinge beginning to enter his voice. “What’s ‘natural’ for me is seeing you as prey Sparkling.”

“But you’re not going to hurt me. Because you love me. I know you’re strong enough to hold back.”

Tom huffed and shook his head. “After everything you’re gone through, how can you _possibly_ still be this naive?”

“Call it what you want, Tom.” He said. “I can prove it to you.”

The former Claymore’s expression, then, was a strange mix of emotions: annoyance, bemusement, resignation. “How would you go about that, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Harry pounced and Tom seemed taken so by surprise that he couldn’t jump away in time. His hands found Harry’s hips in an effort to push him away but the raven was ready for it and wrapped his arms around the elder’s neck. Anchoring himself in place. Crushing his lips to his. Tom stiffened, whined, and made a frantic last ditch effort to push him away.

Harry wasn’t certain precisely when it was that he realized the fact that he’d made a terrible mistake. Maybe it was when the tension left Tom’s body.  Maybe it was when he was pulled closer instead of pushed back, or when he felt the clawed point of the nail on Tom’s thumb drawing blood against his hip. Whatever it was, the primal instinct to bolt welled up within him but before he could pull back the hungry predator he’d locked lips with struck.

His back hit the ground so hard that the air rushed from his lungs and tiny black spots flashed behind his eyes. Harry’s vision swam. He struggled to catch his breath. Once his vision cleared he was met with the sight of glowing, red eyes; Tom was hunched over him, once perfect teeth now a jagged mess of drooling points. Claws drew blood along the taut skin of his stomach, poised to rip him open at any moment. What had he done? Tom had warned him but he’d ignored him. He’d pushed too far. And now he was going to die; forced to watch himself be disemboweled and eaten by the man he loved because he stupidly hadn’t listened when he should have!

What would Tom do when he came back to himself and saw what had happened? How would the guilt affect him?

He wasn’t dead yet. Tom hadn’t moved. He still crouched over him, teeth bared, clawed fingers flexing, body straining against invisible restraints. Harry stared at him, barely daring to breathe; stared at the face which was at once beautiful and terrible, alien and familiar. Slitted pupils had contracted to the point of being swallowed up by seas of red. He was crying; what little part of him remained human was fully aware of what was happening and trying desperately to stop it.

With shaking hands, Harry reached up to touch his face. Wiping away the tears with his thumbs. “I love you.” He said. “I’m sorry.”

The snarl twisted further, the growl grew to a deafening volume, the grip of his fingers tightened until it almost broke bone and then he was gone. Vanished with another flash of the same speed the raven doubted he’d ever get used to. Alone with the flickering fire and hissing in pain, Harry picked himself up and crawled back towards where he’d left the supply pack. He’d treat his wounds and do his best to get some sleep. With any luck, Tom would have returned by morning.


	21. A Possible Solution

Prodding at the fire in front of him with a long stick, Harry frowned. The flames in front of him popped. The spring a few hundred feet back through the trees burbled. An owl hooted. He hadn’t seen Tom in four days and four nights; tomorrow would be the fifth and Harry worried that the former Claymore might never return. That, perhaps, he’d gotten it into his head that even as much of a magnet for disaster as he was Harry was safer without him. That abandoning him was better than seeing him dead despite everything that had been said in the inn at Holyhead after Tom had returned from hunting the Awakened Being.

Annoyed, the little raven snapped the stick in half and tossed it into the fire, wincing when the sudden movement broke open the scabs which had formed over the shallow claw marks. Better to head over to the spring and wash it off before the blood could stain his clothing; while he was at the spring he could try and find some frogs or crawfish under the larger stones which he might be able to make a meal out of.

It wasn’t ideal, by any stretch of the imagination but it was better than starving. And even then he wouldn’t be able to stay there much longer. If Tom didn’t return by the end of the week he’d be forced to move on without him. And no matter how badly he wished that wasn’t the case, it couldn’t be avoided.

Maybe, through scent or chance, the brunet would be able to find him again. Maybe he wouldn’t even try.

Clambering up onto his feet and knocking damp, fallen leaves from where they clung to his hands and clothing Harry left the pack of near to useless supplies (spices, the little pack of money, the fire starter and the other two outfits he’d purchased for Tom in Tutshill) sitting beside the fire and started off towards the trees.

Even in the center of the island winter had made its presence known, and when a cold wind blew Harry shivered. The temperature of the water was likely to be miserable. He might actually have to sit _in_ the fire in order to warm up once he was done washing off the blood and splashing about in the shallows. The owl hooted again from somewhere nearby and above him. To his right the undergrowth rustled. Harry froze, swung around, and was confronted with the large eyes of a deer which bolted away as soon as it caught sight of him. Sighing in relief the little raven shook his head and continued on his way towards the spring.

It wasn’t anything particularly awe inspiring or impressive; it wasn’t even that deep, only coming to about his mid-waist and spanning about ten feet in width but it was enough to support a stable population of small crustaceans and amphibians as well as allow him to wash out his wound. The water was so clear that Harry could see straight through to the rocky bottom and was hemmed in along its shore by boulders ranging in size from about the width of his head to the width of a standard house.

Quickly stripping down and leaving his clothing folded on a smaller rock, Harry wrapped his arms around himself in an effort to preserve as much heat as possible and looked at his hip to assess the state of the wound. Blood was smeared dark red across tan skin, leaking in crimson beads from the cracks formed in the scabs that had built up in the days since the wound had been inflicted. He prodded at it gently with his fingers and they, after deeming the damage relatively minor, stepped into the water.

Ice shot up his spine and his foot instantly went numb. Hissing in surprise but, having gone too far to simply back out now, Harry grit his teeth and forced himself to wade further into the water. Ankles. Knees. Hips. By the time the spring had reached his waist the water had actually begun to feel a bit warmer; the little wizard was certain that wasn’t a good sign but at least he couldn’t feel the cuts stinging. Harry scrubbed gently at the bleeding wound, wanting to make certain it was clean and not in danger of becoming infected while at the same time aware that just because the chill of the water had left him unable to feel it didn’t mean he couldn’t cause himself further damage if he applied too much pressure or caught at the edges with his nails by mistake.

Harry looked up when he felt a sudden chill along his spine which had nothing to do with the temperature of the water and turned towards the shore, stepping back with a splash and a gasp of surprise. Red eyes peered out at him from a gap between two dying hedges, silent and staring. How long they’d been there Harry didn’t know but he felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise; if the near-attack had taught him anything it was that red eyes weren’t a good sign. At best it meant that instinct was close to the surface and at worst it meant that Tom wasn’t in control at all. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Tom, even after what had happened, but he couldn’t keep his heart from starting to race.

The predator in the trees perked up and Harry stepped back. Bad move. Tom emerged from the trees, prowling towards water’s edge on all fours; gore caked beneath his curved talons and covered head to toe in blood. Reaching the water’s edge he rose onto all fours and stopped, head cocked to the side.

Reluctant to remove his eyes from the brunet, afraid it might incite him to attack, Harry looked back over his shoulders at the cluster of large boulders a handful of yards behind him. He doubted he’d be able to make it up and off them before Tom could catch up, but maybe if he didn’t make any sudden movements the former Claymore wouldn’t feel the need to pounce and he’d be able to hide until Tom had returned to his proper state of mind.

Harry took another step back. A large grin split the other’s face, revealing sharpened teeth, and he matched his motion. Stepping forward into the water with an almost playful sounding chirp. Each time he took a step back it was matched with a step forwards by the former Claymore. Every instinct in the raven’s body screamed for him to run but he held it back, aware that sudden movements would almost certainly be a death sentence.

His back collided with the nearest boulder with a thud. He nearly lost his footing on the loose gravel bottom of the spring. Tom had closed the distance between them almost completely. Harry turned his back on him and reached up to grab the rock but before he could pull himself up and escape the brunet had pounced.

Clawed hands caught at his hips and spun him around, his back hitting the rock behind him again. Tom pressed close, the half-tacky coating of blood smearing between them, and nuzzled into his raven hair. A deep purr built in the back of tom’s throat.

“T-Tom?” Harry jerked in surprised when a forked tongue flicked out and licked him behind the ear. Taloned hands gripped handfuls of his arse.

A dry hiss issued from between those jagged teeth before he snarled “mate” and began charting a messy trail of wet kisses and bleeding marks down the column of Harry’s throat. Tom’s Inferus nature was fully in control, he was soaked in human blood, could bite out his throat at any moment, yet Harry found himself becoming hard. Maybe if he wasn’t so busy whimpering at the sharp burn of Tom’s teeth against his collar bone he might have wondered what that last little fact said about him.

Any hope of continued cognitive thought came to an end when Tom’s forked iron-tinted tongue invaded his mouth. A clawed finger probed at his entrance then slipped inside him, followed by another; they stretched and scissor and the raven’s groan was greedily swallowed.

Harry wrapped his arms around the taller male’s broad shoulders. His back pressed flush against the coarse, cold surface of the boulder. Sharp nails scraped along his inner thigh, hooking one of his legs around Tom’s waist and spreading him open. Tom reattached himself to the side of Harry’s throat as he sank into the warmth of the smaller body, hissing possessively when the raven whined and clawed at his back. Nipping at his Adam’s apple. Licking along the curve of his jaw. An incessant purr vibrated his body as he waited for the other to adjust.

“Move.” Harry’s voice was muffled in the crook of the brunet’s neck and jaw. “Tom, please move.”

The former Claymore snapped his hips forward, pushing deeper into Harry’s body. The little raven viciously bit his lip to keep himself quiet, feeling the heavy drag of silken flesh on flesh, assaulted by sensation as Tom established a frantic rhythm. A litany of satisfied hisses and grunts joining with Harry’s moans and the splashing of water. One hand pressed him close, claws splayed across the small of his back, and the other wrapped around him. The calloused heat bringing him to completion moments before the brunet followed him over the edge; molten heat spreading deep inside him as the larger male slumped forward. Huffing and panting.

“Sparkling?” Tom sounded hoarse and confused, as if he’d just woken up from a deep sleep. Suddenly seeming to realize the situation they were standing in-Harry’s arms and legs wrapped around his waist, the smell of sex and blood in the air and the fact that he was still buried inside him-he jerked upright with wide black eyes. “Harry! Did I-?”

“You didn’t hurt me, Tom. And you didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want.” He let his head drop back against Tom’s shoulder. “We should go back to camp and talk but we’re covered in blood and…other things.” Harry felt his face heat up. “We should clean ourselves up first.”

“…That may be best.” Carefully, Tom set him down. Harry whimpered as the brunet pulled out, over sensitized flesh on fire. “You’re covered in bites and bruises.”

“I was into it.” The raven admitted coyly, still bright red as he set to the task of washing off. “I meant it when I said you didn’t hurt me. What took you so long to come back? I was getting worried.”

“I’m sorry, Harry.” He said, washing the smeared blood from his chest. “I had to go quite a ways and once I started hunting I got a bit carried away.”

“How many?” Harry asked lightly, not looking up.

Tom took a deep breath. “Twenty.”

“So you’ll be good for a while, then?”

“The hunger never goes away, Harry. I could eat until I explode but it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“But you won’t _need_ to hunt again for a while?”

“No.” He said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re safe around me, Sparkling.”

“That’s something we need to talk about at camp.” Harry emerged from the spring and pulled is clothing back on. “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Tom repeated, washing the last of the blood out of his hair and emerging as well. “About me?”

“Yes about you.”

“And what theory would that be?”

“The theory we’re going to talk about back at camp.”

Tom huffed and shook his head before following him back towards the guttering fire.

Harry opened the bag and pulled out the second of the three outfits he’d purchased in Tutshill and tossed it to Tom. “Try not to destroy this one right away because I only have one more.”

“You act like I set out to ruin my clothes.” Tom grumbled, pulling on pants. “As if that’s my sole purpose in life.”

“It would make for an impressive title.” Harry snickered. “Heartless Voldemort, Destroyer of Clothing.”

“Have you slept since I left?” the brunet picked up a raggedly skinned rabbit and hung it over the fire. The little raven rolled his eyes. “Well, we’re back in the camp. Why don’t you tell me this theory of yours.”

“’This theory of mine’ might be how we make it so that you’re not dangerous to me. Or at least less dangerous. It probably won’t last forever, but…at least it’s something.” He said. “When you attacked me you were starving and, um…well…frustrated, apparently and your instincts took over. But after you went hunting and we…’mated’ you woke up again.”

“What’s your point, Sparkling?”

“Maintaining control is easier for you to do when your instincts are satisfied.” He said. “So we just make sure their basic demands are always met: food, sex and territory.”

Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Where did you get territory from?”

“The old stories. About the Abyssal Four. They all had their own portion of the land where they lived and hunted and those became four of the five Provinces. With Slytherin being dead I say we take his: it’d be easier than fighting one of the other Abyssals for theirs.”

“I don’t know.” Tom said, a troubled expression settling across his face. “Your theory may have merit, but…I don’t have the greatest memories of my home Province. I’ll have to think about such a decision at length before making it.”

“I can understand that.” Harry said, turning the rabbit on the spit. “I don’t have great memories of Gryffindor Province myself.”

Silence fell between them. Once the rabbit finished cooking the raven pulled it off the fire and portioned it out. After they’d finished eating Tom spoke again.

“Is there anything else you wanted to speak about, Sparkling?” he asked.

“Yes, actually. You said that you used to be like me. Before the Order got to you.”

“If by ‘like you’ you mean a wizard, yes. I was.” Tom said. “But I don’t have my magic anymore; I lost it when they turned me into a Claymore. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m sick of being near to helpless, Tom.” Harry prodded at the ground in front of him with one of the rabbit’s little bones. “I want to learn how to control my magic. I’m done with constantly needing to be saved. I understand that I won’t be able to defend myself from everything, but doing something for myself once in a while would be a nice change of pace.”

“I’m not certain I’ll be able to do much to help you, Sparkling, but I’ll do what I can.” He said. “But not tonight; it’s late and we should get moving again tomorrow. It’s best you get some sleep.”

Harry grumbled something unintelligible in reply and scraped together another pile of leaves to serve as a makeshift bed. Collapsing down onto it with a huff. “Are you going to come over here of do I have to sleep with the supply bag again?”

Tom blinked at him from across the fire. “Are you cheating on me, Sparkling?”

“Not yet, though the supply bag certainly seems more willing to help keep me warm at night so maybe I’ll start!”

“I can’t have that happening.” The brunet rose from where he’d been sitting and, after a brief moment’s hesitance, circled around towards him. “Losing you to a supply pack would be a humiliation I simply couldn’t bear.”

“Good.” Harry pushed the bag as far away as he could without having to get up. “Because, attentive as it may be, ours would be a pretty boring relationship.”

“I’m glad I have that much going for me.” Tom said, stretching out on the forest floor beside him. “You were alright while I was away?”

“I’m still alive.” Harry curled into Tom’s side and rested his head on his chest. His skin still carried the faint smell of blood. “I thought you’d broken the promise you made me after Foxwick.”

“Never.” Tom said. “I may have to leave you from time to time, especially now that I need to hunt, but I’ll always come back.”

“You’d better.” Thin fingers tightened around the fabric of the brunet’s shirt. “I’ll hunt you down again if you do. I swear.”

“Stubborn as you are, I’ve little doubt of that.” The fire beside them flickered down to embers.


	22. The Order's Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of short but I felt like it needed to be in here; a bit of a different perspective which will reveal a little more about Abraxas and what he's up to.

The dim halls of Grimmauld Place echoed with the howling mountain wind and the metallic clicking of her footsteps as Minerva walked down the slanting hallway towards the conference room, low light shining beneath the door.  Voldemort: if anyone within the ranks of the Order’s Claymore had deserved the monogram of ‘Heartless’ it was him. Cold. Calculating. Selfish. Cruel. He hated the Inferus as much as he hated people and had cared nothing for the integrity of their role in society. Nothing for what the Order of the Phoenix was supposed to represent. She’d always considered him too free with the use of his powers, had expected him to one day lose himself to the monster which lived inside them all and have to be put down, but had never expected it to result in a fifth Abyssal being unleashed on the island. Or that it would not be over his desire to spit in the faces of their Masters or to be free of his bonds but instead to protect a child.

The boy: a little, black haired wizard with whom Voldemort had fallen in love against all odds. Were it not for everything she’d known about Heartless’ character and the child’s inability to willfully make use of his magic Minerva might have suspected Dark Magic to be involved.

It was for him that the Heartless threw away the last shreds of his humanity, for all that he’d never truly seemed to care about such matters, and even after he’d Awakened the former Number One had managed to hold himself back from killing the wizard along with their attackers. Though Minerva doubted the boy was currently still alive.

The door creaked as it was pushed open, the room on the other side only just bright enough to allow a human to be able to comfortably see. Dumbledore reclined in a stone chair, the candle light reflecting in his twinkling blue eyes.  Grindlewald stood at the small window with his back to her, arms crossed at the small of his back as he glared out into the shrieking storm.

“Minerva,” the auburn haired man smiled warmly as he rose from his seat. The blonde made an angry twitch and turned his head enough to glare through the corner of his eyes. “You have news?”

“It was a loss, Albus.” She told him. “We were able to capture the boy easily and Heartless’ strange reluctance to tap into his Dark Aura made it simple to subdue him but we misjudged how far he was willing to go to keep the wizard safe.”

“What do you mean?”

Grindlewald made a noise in the back of his throat which sounded identical to an angry cat. “Isn’t it obvious, Albus?” He snapped. “It ought to be considering the surge of power which could be viewed all the way from here! The Heartless has Awakened: a fifth Abyssal has been born!”

The twinkle vanished from his eyes. “Is this true?”

The Third Ranked Claymore nodded. “Voldemort sacrificed his humanity to save the boy. The four of us were not enough to take on the monster which emerged. It was only luck which allowed me to survive.

“And the boy?”

“He was alive when I last saw him, but I’ve little confidence that that has since remained to be the case.” She said. “Voldemort’s power is so immense that I’m able to track him even from here, but I doubt knowing he’s coming will be of much use.”

“The only match to an Abyssal is another of its own kind; it is only our fortune the first four which came to be were concerned with establishing their own territories and quibbling over lines then turning their attention to us.” Albus said. “With Voldemort I fear this may prove not to be the case. If he enters Ravenclaw Province keep a closer eye on him. If he comes within range of Grimmauld’s Mountain sound the alarm.”

“I understand.” She said. “I’m dismissed?”

“Get out.” Grindlewald hissed, still facing the window. Minerva quickly turned and left the way she’d come.

“Gellert-.” Dumbledore said as the door swung shut behind him.

The blonde spun around, dark blue eyes on fire. “The Riddle brat was always more trouble than he was worth: for all his power, he’d never have proved to be the answer to our engagements! Weak but able to be controlled is better than a record setting _monster_ with no reigns, and now because of your decisions that’s _precisely_ what we’re dealing with! The war effort on the continent hinges on the Order finding a way to control the Claymore even after they’ve Awakened; what will they do if there’s no Order left?”

“I understand your concerns, Gellert, but I think you’re being perhaps a bit too hasty with jumping to conclusions.”

“I told you that you should have allowed the Heartless’ punishment for breaking the Golden Law to be carried out unimpeded but you had to insist otherwise. You truly believed the little wizard he’d all but adopted would provide us a proper leash, and now look where it’s gotten us!” He snapped. “There’s nothing we can do against him now. Perhaps he’ll not pay us any mind for months. Years. But that won’t last forever! Of have you forgotten that he’s tried to kill us once before?”

“We may not be able to fight with Voldemort directly, but there may be a way to play one or all the other Abyssals against him. As the youngest, he is also unaware of his limits. It would be simple for Gryffindor, per say, to kill him as he did his stronger ancestor.” Dumbledore sank back down into his seat. “We’ll most likely not even have to lift a finger to do it. Perhaps not right away-he may simply return to his home Province and fill the vacuum of power which has been left there for centuries-but the urge to expand will seize him eventually. And the Lion of the South is his nearest neighbor.”

“And what if this little plan of yours fails as well, Albus?” Grindlewald spat. “If he manages to defeat Gryffindor, or worse, comes straight for us instead!”

“At last resort, there’s always the option of picking up our operation and relocating to the mainland.”

_Leaving the island to the rule of the monsters you created? I suppose it can at least be said that the Order of the Phoenix never does fail to live up to expectation._

Stepping away from the sheltering darkness to the right of the doorway, Abraxas turned and proceeded back up the slopping hall. Turning into another which branched off at a stark angle to the right, making his way to his quarters: a large, sparse if luxurious room filled with various objects he’d acquired throughout his time on the island. Nothing which could give away the truth of his allegiance or nation of origin. Nothing with much real meaning at all except, perhaps, for the small piece of metal sitting on the desk. Its polished surface inscribed with the same Rune once worn around his Claymore’s neck. A Handler’s Plaque.

 _The moment I first saw you I knew you were perfect for my ends: a weapon of theirs which I’d instead mold into a weapon of mine. A partner of sorts, though you were kept in the dark and I was forced by circumstance to treat you as a tool instead of what you really were; a victim of the atrocities they’ve done. I did what I could, in return, to protect you. Though I’ll admit I had my own gains as well._ The metal rattled as he set it back down atop the desk. _Though it took longer than expected to push you far enough. I had my doubts, at first, about the boy but he seems to have proved to be the key to my plans. With any luck, he’ll have kept you reasonable._

Abraxas could still remember how it was that he’d come to be Voldemort’s handler; he’d still been a boy, then, in the midst of the painful process of becoming a Claymore and had had quite the reputation on him. The fact that he was a violation of the ‘no Claymore born from Magicals’ rule combined with the fact that he’d bitten one of the warden’s clear through to the bone just minutes before, dark blood still staining pale lips and sharp teeth, had made him undesirable to the others. They’d though him mad for even considering taking Voldemort on as his ‘monster’ but to him he had been perfect.

It had taken months to gain enough of the Claymore’s tolerance to be able to be on the same side of the barred door as him but it had soon proved worth it. Abraxas had known, as soon as he’d started straining, that his ‘monster’ was destined to be that generation’s Number One and the deal had only been made sweeter by his unsolicited attempt to murder Grindlewald and Dumbledore on ‘graduation day’. Seeing him to the realization of his full potential had taken longer than expected, longer than Abraxas would have liked, but the extra time had proved to pay its dues. Largely owing to what he’d at first considered the boy’s interference.

Unknowingly, the Order had managed to create what they’d set out to: an Awakened Being with some humanity which yet remained intact. Unfortunately for them, the creature wouldn’t be fighting on their side of the war. He’d see to that much personally.


End file.
